Payment
by Bluenblack
Summary: Sequel to In A Mirror, Darkly. Nothing in life comes free.
1. Chapter 1

**P****ayment - Part One**

By Blackn'blue (aka Bluenblack)

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

Note: Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

Genre: Drama/Adventure

Description: This is an MU story that follows immediately after the ST:ENT episode In A Mirror Darkly, Part 2. Depending on whether or not you consider the book Glass Empires to be canon, this story might be considered AU. Part of the inspiration for this came from Rigil Kent, and his MU scene that was posted on the BBS. He started an idea nibbling at me and it wouldn't let go.

* * *

Part One:

She ignored the bitch gleefully ranting on the screen in front of her. Sato was announcing to the planet below that she had killed Archer with her own hands and taken command of the Defiant. T'Pol resolutely tuned out the whore's proclamation of herself as Empress and concentrated on finding a weak point in the shackles that held her in the interrogation chair.

She knew it was illogical and futile. Ironically, she had helped upgrade the chair herself, two years ago at Captain Forrest's request. There was no possible way to escape without tools.

Her breathing was getting out of control again. She slowed it down. Fear was her worst enemy. Worse then Sato. If she let fear take her, she was already dead. First she must cast out fear. Again and always. T'Pol closed her eyes and remembered Surak's warning. The soothing words seemed very far away. As far away as the warm sands of home. She was going to die here. Slowly. She had failed her people and she would be only the first of them to pay for her failure.

She could sense the two Human guards behind her, standing on either side of the door. Their lascivious eyes raked across her back. She knew they had high hopes that their new Empress might decide to include gang rape as part of her punishment. It would be totally in keeping with Sato's character to help seal the loyalty of her chosen security contingent by letting them have a Vulcan to play with for a few hours.

Again she concentrated on her breathing. The old lessons were there, buried deep in her memory. In addition to the healing trance, there was the _shal rom-staya._ The death trance. But could she bring up the necessary discipline to achieve it in time?

The door behind her opened. T'Pol heard her guard's feet shuffle as they snapped to attention, telling her that a command officer had entered. But she didn't need the sound to know it. _He_ had come. She closed her eyes and wished for the first time in her life that Vulcans still worshiped gods. If only to give her someone to curse.

Tucker walked around the chair and leaned against the desk, looking down at her. His burned face stared at her with a detached expression, as if he was thinking of something else. Neither of them spoke.

The bond at the back of T'Pol's mind stirred. His emotions were suppressed, but still powerful. He stared at her with the concentration of a hunting predator. It took all of her courage to face his eyes.

"I told ya that you'd regret what ya did to me." His voice was quiet. Almost a whisper. His expression didn't change.

"I do not regret it," she told him sincerely. "I did it for my people."

The blow came from nowhere. The back of his fist caught her in the temple and knocked her sideways in the chair, sending her reeling into the borderland of unconsciousness. When she blinked her way back into clarity, she saw him standing once more where he had been. His expression had not changed.

"You swore." Her voice trembled with anger. "You swore that you would never speak of it. You promised me by all you held sacred that you would never use it against me. But you lied. How many times did you try to use it to force me to help you? How many times did you remind me of what you did for me, to persuade me to act on your behalf?"

Tucker's drawl was thick and slow, a sure sign of strong emotion. "So that's why ya told me what ya did. Ya wanted to rub ma nose in it. Ya wanted to strut and brag on how smart ya were, and how stupid I was."

"Yes!" she snarled triumphantly.

He straightened up. "An' you were right too." A trace of bitterness slipped into his tone. "If I'd had sense enough to report to Archer what you'd done, ya woulda been dead and I woulda been second in command by now. What did ya do to me, bitch? What kind of control do ya have on me?"

She looked down. "I don't know what you mean."

Tucker deliberately grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked hard, jerking her head backward until she faced the ceiling. He drew his dagger and placed the point carefully under her chin, pressing until a point of blood broke through and trickled down her neck.

"I'm done hearin' yer lies." Tucker leaned over until his face was mere centimeters from hers. His breath reeked of flesh and whiskey. From the bond came a cold fury that touched something primal and terrifying deep inside her. Her mate was dangerously angry with her.

"How come ya were able to use me so easy? How come I didn't report ya? Even after ya told me what ya did? _I went into the booth for you!_" He stopped to breathe hard. "But for some reason I couldn't force myself to turn ya in. Why not? What kind of control do ya have on me? What did ya do to me? Hypnosis? Drugs? Some kind of Vulcan telepathy? _TALK!_."

She stared at him, wide-eyed. This was a side of Tucker that she had never seen. She knew, theoretically, that any human was capable of killing. Particularly any human male. But Tucker had never released his full anger in her presence. Paradoxically, it both repelled and attracted her in a strangely primitive way.

"We." She paused to wet her lips. "We are bonded." Tucker put on a puzzled expression and backed away. He released her hair and pulled back the knife.

"We're what?" he demanded.

She swallowed. "In the Pon Farr. When we mated. The bond formed. It is a telepathic link that joins Vulcan mates for life." He stared at her. She waited but he made no reply. After a moment she continued. "I did not expect this to happen." Her voice started to shake. "I have never heard of it happening with someone who was not Vulcan before. If I had know that it was possible, I." She stopped.

"You woulda done it anyway," Tucker said gruffly. "You were dyin'." She closed her eyes in shame and nodded. "So that's how you control me."

She looked at him again and made a reluctant decision. "I am going to die soon, and I have no reason to lie to you now. We are closely linked, and when I die you might die too. It is important that you prepare yourself."

"Figures." His face twisted in disgust. "Just figures. Why am I not surprised? I wish I'd shot your green ass when I first laid eyes on you." She flinched. "So that's how you kept me under your thumb. You had your hook in me all this time, and I never knew it."

"No! Please believe me." For some reason it was suddenly important to her that he understand. "I do not control you. Bonded mates cannot control each other. You chose not to report me because I still mattered to you. I could sense it."

He barked out a laugh that was hoarse with pain. "Yeah. Dumb as a damn post, for sure." Tucker shook his head and looked tired and sad. "No woman ever looks at me unless she wants something. You were no different. I just wanted so bad..." He snorted. "Fool," he muttered and glared at her again. "At least I'll be free to think and act on my own once you're dead."

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "If I could have controlled you through the bond, why would I have needed to lure you into your quarters for a mind meld?" she pointed out. She shook her head violently. "There is no time for this. Just listen. I was angry with you, this is true. And I have used you. But you did save my life, when you owed me nothing. I cannot honorably allow you to die without giving you fair warning. You must prepare for the breaking of the bond or your mind will be destroyed."

"How?", he snarled.

"You cannot enter into the proper stage of meditation without the assistance of a Kohlinar Master," she told him. "Therefore your only option will be to use drugs. You must have Phlox sedate you into a deep coma just before my execution, and keep you there until I am completely brain dead. It is the only way. Even then, you will probably require full life support for several hours after you are revived."

"Right..." Tucker nodded. "Phlox. Your co-conspirator. That's going to be a problem you see. He's in the booth at the moment. Her Majesty has ordered him kept there permanently. As in, until he dies. So it isn't likely that he will be administering any drugs to anyone in the forseeable future."

"Then you must find someone else to do it," she told him urgently. "It is your only chance!"

Tucker looked at her with ice in his eyes. "Or maybe you just want to make one last jab at me. Maybe you are hoping I will go along with this idea, and with any luck I won't come out of the coma. Maybe you already have a deal made with someone in Medical. I don't think so. I will take my chances."

He straightened away from the desk and put his dagger back in its sheath. T'Pol tightened her grip on the chair arms and raised her voice. "No! I am not lying. I give you my word."

"Like you gave it to Archer?" Tucker sneered. "Your word isn't worth the spit behind it. You used me, lied to me, backstabbed me, and threw me to the wolves. Now you want me to believe that you suddenly give a rat's ass whether I live or die? Not likely. Have a nice life. What's left of it." He walked past her field of view and she heard the door activate.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**P****ayment **

By Blackn'blue (aka Bluenblack)

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

Note: Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

Genre: Drama/Adventure

Description: This is an MU story that follows immediately after the ST:ENT episode In A Mirror Darkly, Part 2. Depending on whether or not you consider the book Glass Empires to be canon, this story might be considered AU. Part of the inspiration for this came from Rigil Kent, and his MU scene that was posted on the BBS. He started an idea nibbling at me and it wouldn't let go.

This story has been on hiatus for a while. But after reading pdsldl's story I got the itch to pick it back up again. Now you know who to blame.

* * *

Chapter Two:

The newly minted Empress chewed her shapely lower lip absently while she watched the recording. Her carefully manicured finger stroked the side of her cheek thoughtfully as the other hand twirled a lock of glowing black hair.

Travis sat looking at her silently. He was almost always silent except in the throes of passion. Then he made plenty of noise all right. She giggled to herself, earning a curious look from him. She answered it with a grin and blew him a kiss before turning back to the monitor.

That Vulcan was like a bad case of athlete's foot - a perpetual annoyance that despite everyone's best efforts continued to plague Humanity. It was beginning to look like she wasn't going to be able to enjoy watching her die just yet after all. Her lip curled like an angry leopard. But maybe she could make the puta regret that fact as much as her Empress did.

Hoshi switched off the recording and opened the historical database that they had found on Defiant. Under Xenobiology: Vulcan, Subcategory: Mating she found the reference she was looking for. It merely confirmed what she already knew. The Empire had learned years ago that killing one half of a mated Vulcan pair would sometimes cause the remaining partner to die. Debate had raged for years among academics on whether they died deliberately or not. Now she knew the answer.

Defiant's database also confirmed what T'Pol had told Trip. Mating during Pon Farr with a Human would almost surely lead to the formation of a mating bond. And contrary to current belief among the Empire's intelligentsia, Defiant's database made it plain that Vulcans and Humans were quite compatible. In the Defiant's home universe, such pairings were not uncommon. Apparently, the obscene half-breeds issuing from such unions were even granted the status of full Earth citizenship. The thought made Hoshi nauseous.

"You're upset," Travis sounded concerned. He walked over to trace a hand over her cheek lovingly. She smiled up at him and kissed his palm.

"Not really," she assured him. "Just mildly irritated. You saw the security recording. I can't afford to lose Tucker, especially now. You know what happened when he was in the booth. Imagine what would happen if he died because of that Vulcan. Right now is _not_ the time to be dealing with a full scale mutiny in engineering. In a few months Tucker will be disposable. But not right now."

Travis' eye glinted with humor. He already knew her well enough to guess what she had planned. "Will he thank you or curse you?"

"Probably both," Sato grinned nastily. "But I don't care as long as T'Pol spends all her time wishing we had just executed her and gotten it over with. Let's go."

A brief stop by the Armory got Major Reed digging for the items that his new Empress demanded. Sato snapped her fingers and ordered Reed to follow them to the interrogation room. The outraged Major glared murderously at her back until he saw the Royal Consort gazing back at him with deadly calm assessment. Instantly a curtain fell over his eyes and an expression of bland submission masked his face. Travis nodded back at him faintly and turned his eyes forward. But Reed was confident that the tall ex-Boomer was aware of his precise position down to the centimeter every step of the way.

Sato caught the prisoner freezing in position as the door opened. Then she deliberately relaxed and settled back, assuming an arrogantly confident posture. Hoshi found her lips twitching. Considering what was about to happen to her, it actually did seem just a bit amusing. The pair of Human guards stood at paralyzed attention when Travis stalked between them, glaring right and left as if scanning them for any microscopic flaw. Their eyes brightened hopefully as their new Empress flowed into the room. Her reputation was well known among this crew, and no one had ever accused her of being... ungrateful... to her loyal friends. One of the guards even dared to touch his tongue to his lip and flick a glance at the Vulcan longingly.

But all trace of ease vanished behind the Empress when Major Reed strode into the room. A cold wave of terror washed across the faces of the guards, and seemed to press ahead of him like a building storm front. The lights were bright and steady, but primal darkness entered the room and everyone felt it.

Sato moved languidly around the interrogation chair, idly trailing a hand across the back and twirling a strand of T'Pol's hair as she went. Travis Mayweather, Imperial Consort and newly raised to Admiral by Imperial decree, took a position at one end of the desk facing both the prisoner and the doorway. Major Reed stood with his back against a side wall, watching everyone and everything with eyes that did not rest.

T'Pol locked her jaws and fought for the standard Vulcan expression of impassive indifference. Even she could tell it wasn't working this time. Yet she would not let Sato see fear. Instead the Vulcan stirred the depths of her anger and brought it up to the surface, let it blaze in her eyes. She had nothing left to lose. Nothing to gain either, but she would die as her warrior ancestors had died, with a challenge on her lips.

Hoshi sat down and lounged back in the desk chair. She draped one arm over the back and crossed her legs, regarding her new toy with a heavy lidded smile. T'Pol counted the seconds, and then the minutes while the tableau held. For two minutes and 13 seconds, no one moved or spoke. Then Sato whispered, "What, no groveling? No pleading for the lives of your people? No asking mercy for your co-conspirators? No offers of cooperation if we will only promise leniency? You disappoint me T'Pol. What will your family think of you when the bombs begin falling, knowing that you did not even try to bargain for them?"

"My family is long dead," T'Pol snarled, "either at the hands of Humans or in service of the Human empire. And what good would bargaining do with such as you? You would never keep such a bargain."

Sato laughed. "As if you would? Archer should have killed you the first time you gave him an excuse. Instead, he offered you a second chance to prove yourself to him. He gave you an opportunity to redeem yourself. Indeed, you proved yourself to him, did you not? And what about poor Trip? That pitiful blind fool actually had affection for you, the imbecile. Which just made it easier for you to use him like an Orion whore and then toss him into the agony booth. No, T'Pol. Accusations of treachery from you do not sting me."

T'Pol pressed her lips together tightly and made no reply. Hoshi watched carefully for a moment and then, deciding that the word game was over for the time being, leaned forward to push a button. "Empress Sato to Commander Tucker."

"_Commander Tucker here your majesty."_

"Report to the interrogation room immediately, Commander. I mean NOW."

"_Understood your majesty. On my way."_

T'Pol's eyes were wide. Sato noted with satisfaction that for the first time she could detect a glint of uneasiness.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**P****ayment **

By Blackn'blue

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

Note: Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

* * *

Chapter Three:

Tucker sized up the room in a single sweeping glance as he strode through the doorway. The door guards got a fast once over apiece, were classified and dismissed. T'Pol was right where he had left her. Hoshi - correction - make that _her imperial majesty_ was behind the desk smirking. Travis stood nearby looking dangerous as usual.

Reed stood with his back against the wall. Tucker stopped to meet and match his glare. The two of them locked eyes and started moving toward each other unconsciously.

"Not just now, gentlemen," Sato's amused voice broke into their concentration on each other. "As entertaining as it would be to watch the two of you locked in gladiatorial combat, I am afraid that we all have too much work to do at the moment."

Reed's mask fell into place instantly and he stepped back against the wall. "Of course, your majesty." Tucker's head snapped around and suddenly he remembered where he was and why he had come.

"I beg pardon, your majesty." Tucker stepped up just behind the interrogation chair and bowed his head. "Commander Tucker reporting as ordered, ma'am."

"Naturally," Hoshi yawned deliberately. "You always do what you are ordered to do, don't you, Trip?"

The burn scar at Tucker's temple darkened slightly, but no other sign of emotion was visible. "Yes, ma'am. I do."

"An excellent quality. It really is you know." Hoshi stood up and walked around the desk, stalking closer to Tucker like an alley cat. "It's the reason that Forrest put you in charge of Engineering in the first place. Of course, you certainly have the skill. But that alone would not have gained you the position of Chief Engineer. Captain Forrest knew that you would never challenge him. He knew that you would stay right where he had put you, like an obedient little boy. And he was correct, wasn't he, Trip?"

Tucker fixed his eyes on a point over Hoshi's shoulder and kept his face immobile. "I guess he was, ma'am."

Sato laughed softly and ran a finger across Tucker's scar. "It's nasty down there on the NX class ships, isn't it Trip?" She clucked with mock sympathy. "All that dirty radiation. You have been damaged, haven't you? You can't have normal children now, can you?" Tucker made no reply. Hoshi's voice became sharp as a razor. _"Can you?"_

His lips twisted bitterly. "No, ma'am," he half snarled. Hoshi let her hand drop and continued pacing around behind him.

"You know Trip, you once were rather presentable... before you picked up that scar. What a pity that conduit happened to explode just as you were walking past it." Sato's eyes had an evil gleam as they flickered toward Reed.

Tucker also shot Reed a swift look, which got a bland stare in response. "Accidents happen, ma'am. It's just the way things are." He returned his gaze to the front.

"Yes, of course," the new Empress acknowledged ingenuously. "You are correct of course. And with the losses we have recently taken, all departments are shorthanded so there have been even more accidents than usual lately. Like what happened with poor Sgt. Cole's hand."

"Cole?" Tucker blurted. He seemed honestly surprised. Reed's face flushed and tightened. His lips curled into a snarl and he took a half step forward toward Tucker.

There was a flicker. No more than a flicker, if that. Reed froze, staring at the end of Travis' phaser weapon, taken from the Defiant's armory. It was half a meter from his face. "Back." One word, barely audible. Reed snapped back into his previous position as if it had been a shout.

Travis flowed back into his place at the end of the desk with the graceful precision of a jaguar and resumed watchful readiness. Hoshi giggled and sent him a delighted smile, then turned back to Trip.

"Yes, Trip. It was while you were in the booth." Hoshi rubbed her lips and half smiled. "Archer was quite incensed you know. He couldn't get a single engineering work order completed properly the entire time you were in the booth. Not a single one. Either there were no parts available, or there was no one available to do the work, or..." she looked at Tucker and snorted, "or somehow fixing one problem seemed to spawn several more. It was quite frustrating to him."

Tucker wore a poker face. "That's what happens when you are short handed."

"Yes, I quite understand," Hoshi assured him. "But Archer wasn't nearly as understanding. He sent Major Reed down to have a talk with Hess. The message was that if things didn't get fixed she would be joining you in the booth. I do believe that Major Reed was quite looking forward to the job, weren't you Malcolm?" She teased the glowering Security officer.

"I merely carried out my orders, ma'am," he said stiffly.

"Apparently you carried them out with enthusiasm and dispatch," Sato responded, walking back aroud to the desk chair and seating herself. She leaned back and told Tucker, catching T'Pol's reaction out of the corner of her eye, "By the next shift there were engineering crews all over the ship, working on almost every system. And the next day, when Sgt. Cole started to step off the turbo lift the door suddenly snapped shut and cut off her hand. Dreadful thing. All that shrieking. One would have expected a MACO to have more self-discipline."

"It was no accident, your majesty," Reed growled. His hands opened and closed. "If you will grant me permission to question Hess-"

Tucker stiffened and his scar flashed crimson. He turned toward Reed and bared his teeth like a wolf. "Like hell! You put a hand on one of my people and Cole won't be the only one-"

"_ENOUGH!"_ Sato slapped the desk like a clap of thunder. The two men woke up to see three phasers pointing at them, one from Travis and two from the door guards. Both froze, staring at the weapons and waiting for the order that would mean their deaths. Sato was fuming.

"_I have had enough of this!"_ She pointed at Reed. "Travis, sit that fool down on the floor against the wall. If he tries to get up, or says one word without being spoken to first, break both of his arms."

Mayweather grinned and took one long stride toward Reed, who sank to the floor looking sick.

"Now," Sato, still smoldering, turned back to Tucker. "You have been a fool, Trip. But you have the potential to be a useful fool to me. You sat there in that pit on the NX-01 for years because you either didn't have the guts, or the ambition, to make a move for anything higher. And you are the best Human warp engineer in Starfleet. I want to buy your loyalty."

Tucker blinked. "You... already have my loyalty, your majesty. I have always been loyal to the empire."

"I do?" She raised her eyebrows. "And yet you claim to be loyal to the empire? Isn't that a bit inconsistent, considering that I haven't even killed the old emperor yet?" Sato's voice developed an edge. "Which is it, are you loyal to me or the empire?"

Tucker looked her straight in the eye. "Both. You hold Defiant, so killing the old emperor is a formality now. You are the de facto empress." He paused a second. "Besides, like you said, the old administration didn't do me too many favors lately."

Sato snorted. Then her shoulders started shaking and turned into giggles. "Oh, Trip," she choked out with a hand over her mouth. "There may be hope for you yet. Could it be that you are not really a fool after all? Are you a coward instead?" She looked carefully at him. Tucker did not return her stare, choosing instead to gaze over her head at the far wall.

"Or... could it be..." Sato continued in a slower and more contemplative voice, "that you were consolidating your position? Were you planning to make your move once you were completely impregnable in engineering?" Tucker's face worked but he made no response. "Hess already worships you, ever since you stopped Archer from throwing her out the airlock. In fact," Sato mused, "every single crewman in engineering owes you a personal blood debt, don't they? Some of them more than once. I hadn't stopped to think of that, but its true."

She glanced up with a tinge of respect. "I may have underestimated you, Trip." Her voice chilled. "But rest assured, it won't happen again."

What could he say? "Understood, ma'am."

"Good. It had better be." Hoshi stood up with decision. "Now, enough wasting time. As enjoyable as this has been, I have an empire to run." She picked up a small chip the size of a man's thumbnail and walked over to Major Reed. "Here, Malcolm. Stand up and put this in your pocket." She smiled happily.

Reed looked blankly at her, then at the chip. "I don't understand, your maj-" A swift kick in the ribs cut off his words and his breath. Reed pitched sideways onto the floor. "Travis, if he is not on his feet in five seconds, cut off his left ear." Reed instantly scrambled to his feet with a full second to spare. He stood and watched Hoshi, breathing hard with murder in his eyes. Travis stepped closer and removed Reed's phaser, holding both his and the Major's weapons ready to use.

"Much better," Sato approved. "Now, Malcolm. As I was saying, take this cute little explosive device that you thought you were being so clever in concealing on the controller pad I asked for, and slip it into your pants pocket. No, the front pocket, right there next to your crotch. Good boy." She patted his shoulder. "With any luck, we should be finished here before the radiation does any permanent damage." The empress turned her back and casually walked back to the desk, leaving Reed sweating under the lethal gaze of her consort and his dual phasers.

"I really can't imagine what he was thinking," Sato spoke in a conversational tone, directing her words in the general direction of both Trip and T'Pol, who had sat silently during the preceding drama, taking it all in with deep interest.

"What _were_ you thinking, Malcolm? Never mind," she chuckled, "I know what you were thinking." Empress Sato picked up a small sensor device on a broad strap and turned toward Tucker with it. "He was thinking," she told Tucker as she fastened the strap around his neck. "that I got my position as chief communications officer aboard the flagship strictly on my bedroom skills. Tsk, tsk, Malcolm. How shortsighted." She turned back to the deck.

"Trip," she said abruptly. "I know about your bond with this bitch. I saw the security recording." He nodded, unsurprised.

"It's nothing important, your majesty," he assured her. "She's lying."

"No," T'Pol said wearily, "I was not."

"Oddly enough," Sato told him, "Just this once it appears that she, hard as it is to believe, may be telling the truth. Not because of anything she said, but because it matches up with what's in Defiant's database. According to the records of this ship, if the slut dies you might very well be hurt. Perhaps even killed. We can't have that, can we?" Tucker's eyes narrowed and he shot a glance at T'Pol.

"I'm willing to take that chance, your majesty," Tucker promised. T'Pol winced and bowed her head. Sato giggled.

"My, my. Didn't expect that from your tame little pet, did you?" Hoshi asked T'Pol playfully. "That's the problem with Human males. Just when you think you have their spirit completely broken and you own them, body and soul, they have this disconcerting habit of turning feral on you. Unpredictable devils sometimes."

She walked over to stand at the front edge of the desk closest to the interrogation chair and opened the small box she held. The thin metal band inside was hinged at two points, which were decorated by large glowing jewels. Sato stepped forward and snapped it around T'Pol's neck, sealing the lock at the back of her neck with the empress's own thumbprint. She adjusted the collar until the glowing jewels were positioned on each side of the Vulcan's neck, then rotated both of them clockwise ninety degrees. A low hum began to sound and T'Pol gasped.

Sato stepped back with a look of satisfaction. "This is a modified version of the collars that Orions used to put on their slaves. That hum you are hearing is the sound of the nano probes making connections with her neural pathways. In a few minutes it will be embedded. After that the collar will be able to apply direct stimulation to either her pain centers, or her pleasure centers, whichever you prefer."

T'Pol's eyes flew open in horror. _"No!"_ came out in a strangled croak. She writhed in the chair, to no avail.

"Oh yes," Sato hissed in deep satisfaction. "And I am the only one who can unlock it. If anyone else tries to tamper with the lock, both of the explosive hinges will detonate, blowing your head off. If the sensor that I hung on Tucker indicates that his heart has stopped beating, the hinges detonate, blowing your head off. If you get farther than half a kilometer away from Tucker, the hinges detonate." She grinned in lascivious satisfaction and turned to pick up the final item on the desk.

"Trip," she purred, "you said the old administration hasn't done you any favors lately. I have a proposal for you, if you are interested."

"Of course, your majesty," Trip replied. He eyed the controller in her hand, glanced at the slave collar, then back to Sato.

Hoshi smirked. "Defiant is an awesome weapon, but it is only one ship. I need a fleet of ships like this. Along with ground based weapons like this. You already know more than anyone else about this ship. With your background, you are more likely than anyone else to be able to unlock its secrets. What will it take?"

Tucker grunted. "We have to reverse engineer every system aboard. Some of them are not going to be too much trouble. The impulse drives are just more advanced versions of what we already use. The only difference is more sophisticated control systems and superior construction. The warp drive is another story. Not only is it more sophisticated, it operates on a more sophisticated set of equations. The intermix ratio is calculated based on a different formula, magnetic containment is more powerful by three orders of magnitude and I have no idea how it is achieved, the warp field geometrics should be completely unstable according to what I was taught, but obviously they aren't which means that our basic warp theories need to be revised. The-"

"That wasn't what I meant," Sato interrupted him in amusement. "I _meant_ what would it take to persuade you to agree to do the job," she explained. "But I see that has already been taken care of." The empress paused and eyed him. "You honestly do love it down there don't you? The work itself I mean. You love it the way Phlox used to love cutting things up. The way Malcolm loves making people scream. That's the real reason you stayed down there, isn't it? Because you couldn't bear to leave your work."

"I'm an engineer, ma'am," Tucker mumbled. "It's what I do."

"A breed apart," Sato mused. "Forrest always used to say that engineers were a breed apart. I never really paid attention, but I think I begin to see what he meant. Well then, Mr. Engineer, how would you like to become Imperial Minister of Starfleet Research and Development?"

Tucker stiffened as if someone had rammed a frozen stake up his rectum. "Me, ma'am?" He stared. "Yes, ma'am. I would like that very much," he hurriedly stammered.

Sato nodded. "You will have to earn it. Duplicate the weapons and shielding on this ship, and you will become a captain. Duplicate the warp engine on this ship, and I will promote you to admiral. Duplicate both, and you will take your place as Minister. How does that sound, Trip? Better than anything the old administration ever offered you?"

Tucker skinned his teeth in a massive grin. _"Yes, ma'am."_

Sato smiled. "Come here." Tucker walked over and joined her behind the desk, turning for the first time to face T'Pol. He noted that the prisoner was looking less than pleased with the proceedings, which did nothing to diminish his grin.

"Since you are the only reason that I am being forced to let her live," Sato explained, "I am going to make you responsible for her. I see no reason to waste anyone else's time and energy looking after the creature. This controller is straightforward enough. This toggles the pain control, with this lever controlling the intensity. This pair on the other side do the same thing for pleasure. Try them," she offered.

Tucker took the unit and looked at T'Pol, who tried to meet his eyes. He slowly and deliberately pressed the pain switch and watched her muscles tighten. Then he carefully adjusted the pain level upward, watching as she gradually started to quiver, and then tremble, and finally went into uncontrollable spasms.

When T'Pol began to emit brief whimpers, Tucker snarled in disgust, "Weakling. It's no worse than the booth." But he switched off the control and watched her slump into the chair, temporarily helpless with relief.

"You may find that the pleasure circuit is even more useful at keeping her in line," Sato offered suggestively, with a cruel smile. "But of course, that's entirely up to your personal taste. Just remember that if she steps one foot over the line, _you_ will pay the price for it."

"You can depend on me, ma'am," Tucker swore. "She won't be doing anything at all except exactly what I tell her to do." He looked at T'Pol. "Will you? _Honey."_

The rasp in his voice brought her eyes up to his face. She pulled in her uneven breathing and managed a complete sentence with a semblance of dignity. "I will obey."

"Good girl," He told her. Tucker walked over to the chair and keyed the release. "Stand up."

T'Pol's legs felt shaky, but she managed to make it to a standing position without disgracing herself by showing weakness in front of her enemies. Her mate's emotions through the bond were a tangle of excitement, shame, triumph, pain, anger, pride, happiness, lust, joy, and a dark undercurrent of something that made her sick to touch.

Tucker turned to Sato and asked formally, "Is anything else required of me, your majesty?" Sato waved her hand.

"You are dismissed. Submit that list of personnel you are going to need to Travis by 2200 hours today. And maintain readiness to go to warp at any time. Remember that you will still be Chief Engineer of this ship while you are 'reverse engineering' her. Don't disassemble anything that we might need to fight with." Sato quirked her lip.

"Understood, ma'am," Tucker said. He turned to T'Pol and pointed at the door. "That way. Go." She turned and started pacing slowly and tiredly toward the exit.

Sato snickered. "Isn't that such a sweet picture?" she told Travis. "A boy and his dog." Her laughter followed them out into the corridor.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**P****ayment - Part Four**

By Blackn'blue

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

Note: Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

* * *

Part Four:

"Turbolift."

T'Pol turned obediently in the direction of the lift and headed down the corridor, keeping her eyes on the floor. Tucker maintained his distance, two paces behind her at all times with his hand on the controller. Crew members passed along the corridor, saluting Tucker and giving T'Pol sardonic glances.

When the turbolift door hissed open Tucker snapped, "Inside, face the back wall." The door closed and he announced, "Main Engineering." With a muted whine the car started moving. Tucker never took his eyes off her, nor his thumb off the button. Neither spoke again until the car stopped.

The door opened and Tucker met the eyes of the two guards that he had ordered posted at the entrance to Engineering at all times. "Stand ready," he ordered. They readied phasers and Trip backed out of the turbolift carefully. When he was two meters out and well clear, he ordered T'Pol, "Turn around slowly and walk out one step at a time, hands in plain view."

She flashed him a look that would have made a hooded cobra seem kindly. T'Pol moved out of the lift with her head high, arrogantly sauntering with a hint of an upturn at the corners of her mouth. Tucker nodded. About what he had expected. The games were already starting. But she wasn't going to be able to push his buttons anymore. He knew what he was dealing with now. This time, she was in for a few surprises.

"My office," he said simply. He fell in behind her again, two paces back just as before. A meter short of his office door he said, "Stop." Tucker turned his head and shouted, "Hess!"

Lieutenant Anna Hess scrambled down from the catwalk and hurried over. "Yes sir," she said brightly, grinning in savage satisfaction at the sight that met her eyes. "We got a new mascot?"

"Yep," Tucker replied with a grin. "Her majesty thought we needed some amusement down here to boost morale."

"Now that's my kind of empress," Hess chuckled. "What d'you need, Sir?"

"Get me a handful of those big cable ties, Anna. The long black ones with the pull latches. We don't want our new mascot wandering around underfoot, do we?" T'Pol stiffened but made no complaint. Hess bounded off on her errand and Tucker ordered T'Pol, "Into the office. Sit in the visitor's chair. Don't move or speak."

She moved carefully into the Chief Engineer's "office", actually an enclosed area that was separated from the rest of Engineering by a fence-like metal latticework. It contained a small desk with computer terminal, a drink dispenser, and a visitor's chair. T'Pol seated herself as instructed and sat back, resting against the fencing and watching Tucker with hooded eyes. She probed carefully, trying to extract his intention without alerting him to her telepathic touch.

"Got 'em, Sir," Hess announced, holding up a fistful of black nylon strips.

"Good." Tucker turned to T'Pol and ordered, "Raise your arms shoulder high, and bend your elbows so your forearms are pointing straight up. Press them flat back against the grating. Yeah, like that. Anna, put three ties on each arm. One at the wrist, one at the elbow, one just below the shoulder. Snug them tight."

T'Pol sneered. "Brave Humans. You have no faith in your own tools, do you? I thought the collar was guaranteed to control me." Tucker ignored her. Hess however, heard the remark and felt motivated to add a little extra weight to the yank that she used to tighten the bonds with.

"Now," Tucker said, "one more around the neck. Don't tighten that one. Keep it loose. We just want to discourage her from getting too frisky, that's all."

T'Pol snarled. "Sato was right. You are a coward." Hess backhanded her sideways, following up with a punch to the jaw.

"Treasonous Vulcan bitch! You aren't fit to lick Commander Tucker's feet! I oughta break every-"

"Anna!" Hess stopped with her hand raised, caught in Tucker's fist. "That's enough for now. Maybe later. Right now we have work to do. Her majesty wants us ready to go to battle at any time. You know what that means. Did you finish the diagnostic on the starboard aft phaser cannons?"

Hess caught her breath. "Yes, Sir. All lights green. But we still need to finish double checking the ship's manual on those intermix formulas. Everything looks good, but I want to make triple sure that we have it exactly right."

"Good idea," Tucker nodded. "Get to it. I will have a look at the warp coil alignment parameters and compare them to the standards in the database." Hess gave T'Pol a last murderous look and stalked out.

Tucker stood looking at his captive for a moment, shaking his head. Then he tossed the controller on the desk and keyed in the selection on the drink dispenser for a cup of strong coffee. Sipping the potent brew, he leaned back against his desk and observed T'Pol carefully.

"To answer your question," he finally told her, "no. I don't have any faith in the collar. Of course, all Vulcans are good liars, and you're a better liar than most," he smiled bitterly. "But I have trouble believing that the collar could put out more pain than the booth. And I know the booth wouldn't have had you spasming and whimpering that fast."

T'Pol's eyes narrowed and she suddenly looked at him in surprise. "Just how stupid do you think I am, anyway?" Tucker asked her with real interest in his voice.

"I have never said, or implied, that you are stupid," she said in a wary tone, watching him closely.

"Well gee," Tucker snorted. "That just comforts the shit out of me." He shook his head and sat down at the desk, propping his feet up and taking another sip of coffee. "What am I supposed to do with you, anyway? Hoshi has really stuck it to me this time. I had the drugs all lined up, had Hess and Rostov already briefed and ready to dope me up and monitor me until you were safely spaced. Now what? If I kill you myself it might piss off her majesty. Not the brightest move I could make, even if I am a fool. As a professional coward, I always make it a point to avoid pissing off people in authority over me."

T'Pol sat stunned. "You did believe me."

"Of course I believed you," Tucker told her in disgust. "Her imperial majesty is not the only one on this ship who can read. As soon as we captured Defiant and I got a free minute, I started researching Vulcans and mind control. I was trying to find out how you set me up. Instead, I found out about Pon Farr and the bond."

"You knew?" Her forehead wrinkled. "You... already knew? Even before you came to me in the interrogation room?"

"Yeah." He drained his coffee. "Like I asked you before, how stupid do you really think I am? I just wanted to see how much you would admit to."

She stared. "But you were ready to let them kill me." Tucker shot her a look.

"You gathered every non-Human you could get your hooks into for your rebellion," he told her quietly. "If it had worked, how many Humans were you planning to leave alive?"

Despite her best effort, T'Pol could not meet his eyes. "I had no intention of killing you," she managed.

"So you were going to have Phlox do it instead?" Tucker guessed. "Or did you ask Soval to pull the trigger? One thing I learned from Defiant's database, and no doubt you did too since you spent more time studying it than anyone else from day one, is that in a Vulcan/Human pairing the bond is uneven in strength. If you die, it will probably kill me. But if I die, you will almost certainly survive because I am not a natural telepath. The database cited case history after case history to prove it."

Tucker paused to look at her and wait for a reply. None came. "You learned that the same way I did, didn't you? And it gave you an easy way to get rid of me. Dump your Human mistake and find yourself a real Vulcan husband."

T'Pol squeezed her eyes shut and and fought for control. Trip watched her and felt something buzzing at the back of his mind as she struggled. "Just like I thought," he finally said. "Well, too bad. I'm the bondmate you got. And by the way, I've been reading up on Vulcan law. You have been a neglectful mate, T'Pol. Haven't you?"

She flushed emerald with fury. "You are not Vulcan," she growled. "You have no right to claim the privileges of a Vulcan mate."

"And where does Vulcan law state that?" Tucker sat back. "Show me anywhere in Vulcan law where it says that a non-Vulcan mate is not entitled to the same privileges as a Vulcan mate. Anywhere."

"_I will kill you if you touch me! I will sear your mind!"_ Her hissing screech caught him by surprise for a moment. Tucker hadn't expected such an extreme reaction. Certainly not so quickly.

"Who said anything about touching you?" he asked her mildly. "No, T'Pol. If I want a woman I can get all I want now. Chief Engineer on the Imperial flagship? Under direct command of the empress herself? I could look even worse than I do and women would still line up from here to the bridge and back. But you have still been neglecting my needs. As my mate you are responsible for making sure that I am properly tended, aren't you?"

T'Pol gaped at him, dumbfounded. "What are you talking about?" she blurted.

"Don't you know your own people's law?" Tucker asked her innocently. "Look it up for yourself. As my bonded mate you're supposed to take care of me. You are supposed to make sure that my physical needs are tended to. Make sure that I get enough food, and a proper diet. Make sure that I get enough rest. Guard my privacy while I meditate. Generally make sure that I stay healthy and happy."

T'Pol told him, "If you intend to invoke that law, then you must also obey it."

"Why?" he asked her. "I'm not Vulcan. I didn't agree to become your mate. You trapped me into it against my will ,and without my knowledge or consent. I am not obligated to you in any way. In fact, by Vulcan law what you did is a crime on your home world, isn't it? If it gets known on Vulcan that you bonded someone without their consent, much less that you bonded a Human without his knowledge, then you'll become a hunted criminal among your own people, won't you?"

T'Pol sat paralyzed.

"Now, _Honey,"_ Tucker told her sweetly, "Let me get some work done while you think about what to fix for dinner tonight."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**P****ayment **

By Blackn'blue

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

Note: Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

* * *

Chapter Five:

T'Pol leaned back and tried to focus her mind into first level meditation, which would allow her to remain aware of her surroundings while still gaining some benefit from the discipline. Tucker pretended to ignore her while working on his terminal for a while, as crew members went back and forth through the engineering area. On the far side of her mate's desk, the throbbing vertical column of Defiant's massive warp core glowed pulsing with raw power. Power to shatter worlds like her own.

T'Pol flickered a glance back at Tucker and surreptitiously tested her bonds. She could easily snap the cable ties one at a time. But each one would make a loud sound. To free herself she would need to break all six of the ties holding both arms, then grab the one around her neck and break it loose, all before Tucker had time to grab a weapon. The collar alone wouldn't stop her. But at maximum power it could certainly slow her down. Better to wait for a more opportune moment. She settled back against the fencing and relaxed again.

"Smart choice," Tucker told her without looking up. "You never would have made it."

She glared hatred. Like Sato, she had underestimated this man. When the Pon Farr came upon her, T'Pol was caught completely by surprise. Once Phlox had determined that the microbe she contracted presented no danger to the rest of the crew, and she had refused his offer with revulsion, he had simply released her from decontam and wished her luck in finding a partner with a sadistic grin.

With almost no time left to choose she had selected Tucker. He had previously expressed interest in her. He was an officer, but low enough in the hierarchy not to pose a threat to her position. He was not a bridge officer, and in the entire time he had been on Enterprise had never made any attempt at assassinating Archer, his direct superior. Therefore he was weak and afraid. He would be easily controlled and ideal for her purposes.

She had seriously miscalculated, she realized ruefully. Tucker was obviously a strategist rather than a tactician, or perhaps both. T'Pol remembered the Human's most ancient textbook of warfare, and its advice, _"Use humility to make them haughty... Take them by confusion."_

There was even a Human toast that she had see used once, in one of their crude dramatic presentations - "Confusion to our enemies!". This was a time for her to re-evaluate her position and consider her options. If Tucker had already known about the bond, even before her capture, then he must have been studying the Defiant's database almost as intensely as she had. There was no way to predict how much information he had gathered, nor how much of it he had already put to use. She should definitely wait and gather more information before she decided on a course of action.

He had been ready to let her die.

The thought kept returning for some reason. Logically, it should not have bothered her. She had been planning for his death during the uprising. In fact his guess had been uncomfortably close to the truth. She did not specifically request one of her allies to kill him for her, but she had expected that he would save her the trouble by getting himself killed in the fighting. And why not? She owed him nothing. He had certainly enjoyed himself during her Pon Farr. And he had betrayed his promise afterward, negating any debt of gratitude that she might otherwise have felt.

Sato's words came back to her. _"That pitiful blind fool actually had affection for you, the imbecile." _ He had refrained from reporting her to Archer, even after she had caused him to be falsely accused and sent to the agony booth.

T'Pol resolutely pushed all other considerations out of her mind and settled into the meditation breathing patterns. She sank slowly into the fugue state that would settle her emotional turmoil and clear her thinking.

He was her mate. It was an inescapable fact. There was no way that any Vulcan could deliberately harm their own bonded mate in cold blood. Instinct would never permit it, any more than it would permit a Vulcan to refuse their mate when in the grip of Plak Tau. She might have been able to force herself to stand by and allow him to die in a fight with her allies. And even that thought had sickened her. But to do it herself? With her own hands? No. It would never happen.

Tucker on the other hand, could and most likely would kill her if she provoked him. All he would have to do is arrange for his people to drug him, and then remove the sensor from around his neck while he was in the coma. At least her death would be swift when the collar exploded.

She would have to prepare her escape carefully. She did not expect to get more than one chance.

&

Ensign Campbell kept careful watch in his peripheral vision. Tucker was still busy in his cage, doing something with his Vulcan concubine. _Must be nice, _ he thought enviously. _If that's the kind of perks our new Empress passes out, I am going to like this administration. _

Rostov was on the other side of the huge room, at the top level of the catwalk. He had his back turned, making adjustments to the port coolant feed regulators. Everyone else was occupied with doing their jobs and had their heads down like good little worker bees. Hess was less than a meter away and focused exclusively on the monitor in front of her.

Campbell felt a brief pang of real regret. Hess was a looker, and not hard to get along with either. He was going to miss her. But there was no way to avoid it, she was his direct superior. She had to be eliminated, and he had to do it himself. When Anna turned her head to make an adjustment on the far edge of the console, Campbell drew his dagger and struck at her back in one flashing stab.

Hess saw a distorted reflection on the surface of the console make a sudden jerk, and at the same time she heard a shuffle of feet shifting position. Conditioned reflexes pounded into her during those 0400 practice sessions that Trip had insisted on saved her life. Instead of a direct stab into her lung, the dagger skittered across the back of her ribcage and bounced off her backbone.

Hess used the momentum of her spin to provide the energy she needed to deflect Campbell's blade arm to the outside line, counter striking with stiffened fingers at his eyes. He flinched and ducked back, giving her a clear shot at his kneecap, which buckled with a satisfying crunch when her foot landed hard against the inside corner of it. Crewmen started running from all directions to watch the show. Campbell shifted his grip and got ready for another strike, knowing he had only a few seconds at most to finish the job.

If Hess wasn't dead by the time Tucker arrived, Campbell would be. The Commander couldn't do anything about it if he had already succeeded in his attempt. The rules of assassination were clear. But if he fumbled the job, if he failed in his attempt, then he was dog meat and nobody would do anything but laugh at his incompetence as he died.

As Campbell shifted to bring his intact knee to the front, Hess drew her own dagger and struck. Her blade swept across the space between them like a hummingbird wing, raking over Campbell's fingers and severing the tendons in three of them. He hissed in pain and jerked back. Hess grin snarled and advanced one pace, with her blade held up and ready for either another slash or a quick stab.

&

Anna saw Campbell fumbling to switch his dagger over to his left hand. She took advantage of the distraction to push forward relentlessly, stabbing and slashing, driving him backward in growing fear. Campbell finally got his knife switched and made a wild swing in desperation, trying to force Hess to back off. She ducked low and came up underneath with a quick jab, piercing his forearm halfway between wrist and elbow. Blood started pouring out in a steady stream and panic flared in Campbell's eyes. With his right leg and right arm disabled, and now his left arm weakened, he was in serious trouble and knew it.

So did Anna. The slice across her back burned like acid. But it was only a flesh wound and no real danger. From the way blood was pouring out of Campbell's arm, she must have at least nicked a vein. She had won. He would eventually bleed to death from that wound alone. All she needed to do now was wait. Tucker ( _Trip_ ) had coached her again and again on the importance of patience.

"_Glory doesn't do a corpse any good, Kid." He had smiled at her and she stopped breathing, fighting to keep her face calm and attentive. "Don't worry about showing off or getting fancy. It isn't who wins first. It's who WINS." _

"Nice work, Anna," came from behind her. By the old emperor's withered jewels, he had come to watch her victory. Hess felt her heart start singing with joy and pride. Campbell's eyes switched to look over her shoulder and met Commander Tucker's ice blue stare. Animal terror blazed in his eyes and he gasped at the vision of his death.

"Nice form." Rostov ambled around from behind the commander and took his place in the circle of watchers, pursing his lips and hooking his thumbs in his pockets. "Not too smart, was he?"

"Dumb as a rock," Tucker grunted in disgust. "It's up to you Anna. But if you are willing to consider letting him live, I would surely appreciate it. We are short handed as it is. I just sent in a request to Travis for more personnel. I'd hate to have to send in another one right away requesting a replacement. It might make me look bad."

Hess would sooner disembowel herself with her own fingernails rather than refuse Tucker anything whatsoever. "Of course, Sir. He's all yours." She stepped back with a gracious nod. Tucker gifted her with an impish grin that made her knees weak and stepped forward to take charge of the situation.

"Perez, slap a tourniquet on that fool's arm before he bleeds to death," he ordered in annoyance.

"Thank you, Sir," Campbell managed weakly while Ensign Perez roughly knotted another one of the ubiquitous cable ties around his arm, wringing it down with a small spanner until the blood flow slowed to a trickle. Tucker snorted.

"You're busted back down to able crewman," he told the pale and trembling Campbell. "Midnight shift scut work. That means plumbing and recycling maintenance, and any other nasty, stinking job they can find that nobody else wants to touch. And you will continue grubbing shit and garbage," he paused and interjected forcefully, "with your bare hands whenever possible," then his voice returned to its previous peeved tone, "until Anna here decides that you have groveled enough, and kissed enough ass, to be permitted the privilege of moving up to scrubbing Jeffries tubes. Understand?"

"Understood, Sir. Thank you, Sir," Campbell weaved and almost fell over. Perez reached out and grabbed his injured arm, stopping the fall but provoking a tiny howl of agony.

"Drag him out of here and see what leftover science tech they have manning sickbay these days," Tucker told Perez. "The rest of you, listen up!" The surrounding members of the engineering crew turned to pay attention to their commander with attentive expressions. Tucker seldom addressed them as a group, preferring to lead by example and personal contact. On the rare occasions when he did make an announcement, it was always important.

"You all know the rules of the game as well as I do." He looked around from face to face, assessing the expressions he saw. "If you can take them out, you can take their job. That's the way the law was written when the empire was founded. Personally, I think it's a damn fool way to operate and a piss poor waste of talent. But nobody asked me. So as long as you operate inside the law I can't do anything about it, and I won't try."

He paused for effect. Then he raised his voice, punctuated his next words with a pointing finger. _"But._ If you take your boss's job you better be able to handle it. I can't stop you from trying. But if you can't handle it, and you screw something up it's _My Ass _ that the empress is going to come after. So don't even think that I won't come down on you like a hammer."

Tucker paused to look at Hess, standing at his elbow. "Like Campbell just now. He thought he could take Anna. I've never seen such a fool. If we weren't short handed I would transfer him to Security where he belongs." Spontaneous laughter broke out for a few minutes, lightening the tension. Tucker let it run its course while he watched his people carefully. At the right moment he resumed, "Even if he had won, I would have had to kill him before the first shift was out for incompetence. None of you are ready to step into Anna's shoes. Rostov is the closest to being ready, and he's not even up for it. Thing is, he's got sense enough to realize it."

"Thanks, Boss," Ensign Rostov told him cheerfully. "I really appreciate it." More laughter. Hess flushed and looked at the floor to avoid revealing too much.

"That's all I had," Tucker finished. "Just keep in mind. You wanna move up, you better remember that even if you go up a grade you still have to answer to me. And I am _not_ gonna cover your ass because you got ambitious before your time." He turned and walked away, leaving his people to return to their jobs and discuss the day's excitement.

"Anna." She felt his gentle hand on her arm and hoped the shiver would be interpreted as reaction to her wound. "Let's get you patched up. Rostov," he called the ensign over and handed him the collar controller. "Watch the Vulcan. If she tries to get loose, hit both buttons at maximum power and leave them there until I get back. If she keeps fighting use one of the big wrenches. Don't kill her and try not to break any bones if you can help it, but don't let her get loose no matter what you have to do. And remember above all not to let her touch you."

"You got it, Boss," Rostov took the controller and marched off toward the office with a grim expression.

Hess shot a murderous stare at the back of T'Pol's head where it was visible against the grating around Tucker's office area. "You should get rid of that," she whispered. "We still have the drugs. Everything is ready to go. Keeping her around is like kissing a scorpion. She is just waiting her chance and you know it."

Tucker chuckled and guided her between two of the main catwalk support struts and into the storage area along the outer wall of Main Engineering. "I know." He keyed in a rapid sequence of letters and numbers into a keypad and a recessed door slid aside, revealing a narrow corridor. Tucker lightly pushed Anna ahead of him and turned to close and lock the door behind them. He double checked that the sensor baffles were still active before following her down the hallway.

The door at the end slid aside to reveal a small storage room full of medical equipment. Two biobeds had been broken out of their containment crates and set up for operation, along with associated diagnostic equipment. Supply cabinets were newly stocked with 23rd century medicines and medical equipment.

"Have a seat and let me look at that scratch," Tucker ordered. Hess obeyed self-consciously, hopping onto the nearest biobed and unfastening her uniform top with a crimson face. "No need to take it off, Anna," Tucker tried to reassure her, "Just loosen it enough so I can get a clear look at your back."

Hess chewed her lip and stared at the wall as Tucker hm'ed and hissed. "Brace yourself, this might sting. I don't know if it will or not, it just says antiseptic on the label." She nodded and felt a cooling spray across the length of the cut.

"Didn't hurt at all," she told him, shivering again when she felt his hand on her back, steadying her while he activated another piece of equipment.

"This is supposed to be an improved wound sealer," Tucker explained quietly, standing close enough that she could feel his warm breath brushing across her shoulder and neck. "I'll be as careful as I can."

"Not a problem," she told him. "It doesn't... feel bad at all."

"Good," he told her briskly, switching off the instrument. Tucker stepped back with a smile. "Good as new. Did you get your shot today?"

"Yes, first thing before my shift started. Did you?" She watched him put on a sheepish look.

"I got sidetracked," Tucker admitted. "I will do it right now." He walked over to one of the cabinets to replace the wound sealer, and selected a hypospray along with an ampoule. A quick hiss emptied the medication into Tucker's arm, accompanied by a wince. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "All right. Mission accomplished." He winked at Anna and disposed of the spent hypo.

Searching for something to prolong this time alone with him, Anna mentioned, "Rostov told me that the tumor is going down." Tucker turned his head quickly.

"Is he sure?" His eyes lit up hopefully.

"He says he is," Hess replied. "He also told me that he is starting to see color again in his left eye. Not much, kind of washed out and only the bright primary colors so far. But definitely coming back."

"How about you?" Tucker stepped over eagerly. "How are you feeling? Any differences?"

She glanced away. "I... uh... yeah."

He waited. "Well?" Tucker urged impatiently.

"It's a female thing," she told him wryly. "Something that wasn't working right is working right again." She decided not to mention the lump. There was no reason to worry him. Not only had it stopped growing, she was willing to swear that it had shrunk to half its former size in the past several days.

A slow smile spread over his face. "It's true then," Tucker breathed. "The medical database was right. The drug cocktail really does repair radiation damage."

"Even genetic damage," she reminded him. "According to the medical texts. Whoever these "Bajorans" are, they really must know their stuff when it comes to treating radiation exposure."

"If I ever meet one, I don't care if they look like a Klingon targ, I swear I am gonna kiss 'em right on the mouth," Tucker declared. Anna giggled and slapped his arm playfully. They left the improvised clinic smiling.

"Whoops," Tucker stopped in mid stride. "Almost forgot something. He ducked back into the clinic while Hess watched him curiously. In a moment Tucker returned, slipping two new hypos into his pockets. "Might need these. Let's go."

&

Rostov walked into the enclosure with the controller in one hand and a steel club in the other. T'Pol watched him warily. The Human stopped to look at her without expression before sitting down at the desk.

"He told us what you did to him." The words were clear and emotionless. T'Pol made no reply.

"Not feeling sociable?" Rostov flipped the pain switch to mid-level power and trigered it on and off quickly. T'Pol, caught by surprise, twitched slightly but made no sound.

Rostov smiled. "I recognize this. Guards use these at the Lunar mines to keep prison laborers under control. A friend of mine worked there for a while, he said they have a lot of fun with them." Rostov thumbed the pleasure adjustment to minimum and switched it on.

T'Pol held herself steady. She took a slightly deeper than normal breath and let it out slowly. Then she turned a glare on her presumptuous Human tormentor. "What will Tucker say when he finds out you have been playing with his property?" she sneered.

"Ah, the Boss won't mind," Rostov said dismissively. "He's a good guy. Only command officer on the ship that gives a rat's ass about anyone but himself." Rostov grinned at her, displaying his broken teeth. "That's why he's the only one of the old command officers that's still alive and holding his position."

"What about Reed?" T'Pol tossed back. Rostov laughed in reply.

"Reed?" Rostov snorted and chuckled again, shaking his head. "Never mind. Too complicated for your feeble little Vulcan mind to handle." He moved the pleasure adjustment up to one third power and watched T'Pol's muscles tighten. "You like that? Be nice and I will give you more."

Rostov watched with satisfaction as her jaw muscles tightened. He turned the pleasure setting up to maximum. Then with a quick flick of his thumb he switched off the pleasure toggle and activated the pain setting. T'Pol jerked and gasped. Her hands clenched into fists and her back arched, forcing the binding around her neck to dig into her throat. Both of her arms strained against the bindings that held her against the mesh. In a moment she got her breathing under control and settled back into the chair, sending a murderous look across the room.

Rostov kept a bland expression on his face and left the pain setting on maximum for several seconds. T'Pol's breathing steadied and she firmed her lips, rapidly gaining total control. He grinned and snapped the setting from pain back to pleasure again.

T'Pol started shaking and jerked upward in the chair, breaking the cable tie around her right shoulder and scraping blood from the neck binding. A tiny squeak escaped from her throat. Then her feet slipped and dropped her back into the chair, still shaking. She managed to raise her head and bare her teeth at Rostov. "I. Will. Kill. You."

"Already tried that, remember?" Rostov replied airily. "You thought you would steal this _Human built_ starship of _Earth registry_ and use it to conquer the Terran Empire. Didn't work, did it? You thought you would murder Commander Tucker too, didn't you? Your own bonded mate, as I understand. He saved your life, and what did he get in return? Did you try to help him out of that radioactive hellhole? No way. Not you, Vulcan. Instead you tried to murder him and get him out of the way. Which I believe makes you an outcast and a pariah among your own people if it ever gets reported, doesn't it? According to what I read anyway, the penalty for betrayal of one's mate, either male or female, to their enemies is death by either lirpa or Tal Shaya, depending on which method the judges prefer to have the executioner use."

T'Pol tried to lunge forward, brought up short by the bindings. Her throat started bleeding, as did her wrists. She was still shaking from the collar's transmissions, and her teeth were starting to chatter from the combination of neural overload and impotent rage. Rostov watched for a moment longer.

"Commander Tucker gave me strict instructions you know," he informed her. "He told me that if you tried to break loose I was to set both of these controls on maximum, hit both buttons, and leave them there until he got back." Her eyes flew wide open and she started to shake her head.

"No. No. Ple-" He hit the second button and she screamed.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**P****ayment **By Bluenblack (aka Blackn'blue)

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

Note: Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

* * *

Chapter Six:

"I figured I better turn it off, Boss," Rostov explained, handing over the controller, "when she passed out."

Tucker took the unit with a stone face. T'Pol sagged in the chair, held up by the cable ties that pinned her arms to the fencing and looped under her chin. As he watched, her eyelids started to flutter weakly. He noted the broken tie at her shoulder, and the abrasions at her throat, evidence to support Rostov's contention that she had tried to lunge out of the chair at him.

He gave a secret sigh. He knew better, but what choice did he have? Tending Anna's wound was a priority, and Michael was the only one on his crew that he could trust not to kill the Vulcan on general principles. It would have been too much to ask that he hold back from harassing her. "Good enough," he said gruffly. "Finish up with the coolant regulators. Then run a full set of diagnostics on the transporters." He gave Rostov a significant look. "You remember what we talked about?"

Rostov kept a blank expression. "Sure thing, Boss. I remember everything, you know that." He grinned. "I'll get right on it." Tucker settled into his desk chair with a tired exhalation and waited for T'Pol to finish regaining her senses.

&

Her Imperial Majesty Empress Hoshi Sato the First was getting tired of dealing with bureaucrats. She settled back into the center seat on Defiant's bridge and spoke slowly and thoughtfully. "I see, Minister Norot. So the Emperor refuses to speak to me? How quaint."

The balding, muchly-wrinkled face on the view screen scowled. "Quaint? Lieutenant, you seem to have no conception of the trouble you are in."

Sato pulled on her lower lip and shook her head sadly. She spun the captain's chair around and spoke to the ensign manning the communication console, "Do you have the coordinates, Baird?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied. "They are transmitting from a point in the Himalayas. From the strength and distortion of the signal, I estimate that they are twenty kilometers underground."

Sato turned back to examine the old man who had been designated to negotiate with her. She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. "Hutchinson," she snapped.

"Yes, ma'am," the officer on duty at the helm console responded crisply.

"Lock phase cannon on the coordinates that Baird sends you. Prepare to fire on my order. Full power."

"Yes, your majesty." Hutchinson got busy and Sato smiled gently, watching her conversation partner's face undergo a rainbow of color changes.

She half turned her head. "Baird, pipe this to view screens all over the ship. I want my crew to have no doubts about my lawful right to rule. And broadcast it on all channels throughout the system. Send it out on maximum power. Override standard channels."

"You can't do this," Norot was blatantly sweating. "Even if your weapons can penetrate this deep, which I doubt, we are protected by force shielding and polarized plating equal to the strongest battleship."

Sato snorted in amusement. "I would have preferred," she told him in a gentle purr, "to kill my predecessor in a face to face confrontation, thus maintaining tradition and minimizing collateral damage. Unfortunately his cowardice has made that impossible." She looked at the helm console. "Fire."

Twin fangs of hellfire hissed down from Defiant's hungry jaws and bit deep into the heart of Earth. Stone trembled, than cracked, crumbled, and ran like water. Down through soil, subsoil, and bedrock the phasers bit. Gouging deeper and wider with each meter, mercilessly disemboweling the helpless planet below in search of their prey.

"Status?" Sato asked idly, holding Norot's gaze with her own.

"Penetration 0.8 kilometers, ma'am," Hutchinson replied. "Estimate contact with the former emperor's hideout in 24 seconds."

Sato smiled. "Former emperor's hideout?" She laughed. "You have a rare talent for buttering up, Hutchinson. Let me know when we hit them." She pressed a button on the arm of her chair. "Empress Sato to Engineering. Give me a status report."

"_Commander Tucker here your majesty. Everything looks good down here. All systems read high nominal. Power drain is well within standard tolerance. You can keep this up all day without straining anything." _

Travis, standing in his typical position next to the turbolift with his arms folded, raised one eyebrow in an almost Vulcan expression. He glanced around the bridge and noted general expressions of gloating satisfaction. Hoshi, however, seemed to take it in stride matter-of-factly. He let his eyes caress her briefly. She always kept it together. Even in bed, she never really let go. He wondered, for the thousandth time, what was really under that facade.

"Contact," Hutchinson announced. "We have hit the force shield around the-" He paused. On the viewscreen, the picture became interlaced with dark streaks and static. Minister Norot grabbed the comm in front of him for stability as the floor beneath his feet started bucking and shifting. Pieces of ceiling began falling all around him. "Correction," Hutchinson continued, "we have penetrated the force shield. Cutting into the plate shielding like it was butter," he added cheerfully.

Minister Norot shouted something unintelligible just before the screen went black. Ensign Baird announced, "The signal has terminated ma'am."

"Arvon?" Sato glanced to her right.

Lieutenant Arvon's fingers flew over her console as she stared into her hooded viewer. "Scans indicate that the entire complex has been destroyed ma'am. No life signs. No energy readings. Nothing left intact down there at all."

Sato sat back and said nothing more. Hutchinson glanced back for a second, then hurriedly returned his eyes where they belonged. The bridge crew sat quietly for a moment before starting to fidget uncomfortably. Finally Travis strolled over to the big chair.

"You are still firing the phase cannon," he reminded Hoshi. She gave him a look.

"I am well aware of that," she told him in an airy tone, but with an edge in her eye. He stepped back and shut up. "Status, Hutchinson?"

The helmsman swallowed. "Current depth 46.4 kilometers. Increasing at a rate of 0.5 kilometers per second."

"Continue firing," Sato ordered coldly. He acknowledged the ordered in a subdued voice.

A minute later Lieutenant Arvon announced, "We are nearing the point of penetrating the Mohorovicic discontinuity. If we continue firing we will soon penetrate the Earth's mantle, releasing a lava flow. In effect, we will create an artificial volcano."

"Precisely," Sato said smugly. "He may have been a coward, but he was emperor. Even a cowardly emperor deserves a proper tombstone, don't you think?"

Arvon swallowed, then swallowed again. "Ma'am." She took a deep breath when Sato turned her chair to look directly at her. "Begging your pardon ma'am." She hated the way her voice shook, "And with all due respect. The pressure released will be enormous. This will not be any typical volcano ma'am. It would be more on the order of the release from a major asteroid strike. We could cause significant damage to the entire planetary ecosphere."

"Your concern is noted, Arvon," Hoshi told her. She spun the chair back to face front again. As the lieutenant turned back to her viewer, thankful for her escape, she heard Sato add, "That took guts, Arvon. I won't shoot you for doing your job. But don't get cocky." She cringed and kept her mouth shut.

"Baird," Sato ordered, "give me a close up view of the firing zone." The viewscreen lit up with an orbital view, rapidly zooming in to show the charred and molten cauldron of the target area, still being stirred by the phaser beams.

Suddenly the center of the molten material bulged upward and splashed violently. "We have pierced the discontinuity," Arvon announced. "Magma is rising fast. Explosive eruption in less than eight minutes."

"Cease fire," Sato ordered. "Ready tractor beam. Full power, widest possible spread. Be ready to spread a roof over that thing. But don't activate it yet." She leaned forward in fascination. "I want to see what this is going to do."

The lava rose higher with each passing second, spraying like a fountain from the floor of hell. The pool spread out, creeping along the ground, filling nearby valleys and climbing slopes like an obscene amoeba. Then everything blew sky high. Literally.

"Activate Tractor Beam!" Hoshi shouted. Hutchinson's hands flashed for the controls and smacked down on the buttons.

In the time it took Hoshi to see the explosion and react with a command, the column of searing magma shot skyward a distance of ten kilometers. Between the time that the order left her lips and Hutchinson managed to react, it rose another seven kilometers and began to spread out into a mushroom formation. By the time that Defiant's tractor beam was fully engaged, the eruption had reached a maximum altitude of 23,000 meters and was putting out several times as much energy as the early atomic weapons. Debris spread out in a swirling inverted cone and rode the prevailing wind currents of the upper atmosphere across Asia and Europe, carrying ash and poisonous gas into the most densely inhabited regions on the planet.

The raging fury of damnation unleashed was met and balked by a countering fist from the heavens. Defiant's tractor beam impacted the top of the lava plume and caused it to clump together. The frigid remnants of atmosphere at 23 kilometers cooled the molten rock quickly, forming it into a rough dome shape with a jagged bottom.

Defiant began trembling with the effort of holding back the wrath of Mother Earth's vengeance. Sato appeared to ignore it, leaning back and asking idly, "Arvon, how high is Mount Everest?"

Arvon, caught flat footed by the non-sequitur, took a moment to reply. She eventually came up with, "Uh. About 8,850 meters, Ma'am. Just roughly."

"Close enough," Sato smiled. "Hutchinson, adjust the tractor beam down far enough to keep the eruption from spreading beyond the immediate area. As the outflow builds up, gradually allow the height to raise to 10,000 meters and hold it there. Notify me when it reaches that level."

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied. Sato spun in her seat, giddy with adrenaline.

"Arvon, how long will it take for that volcano to cool down?"

The lieutenant swallowed hard. "It might take a long time, Ma'am. We drilled a straight shot down directly into the mantle. With a clear path like that and no diversions or obstructions, it might take... years?"

"Well," Sato pondered the matter. "That's not acceptable. We have other things to do besides sit here and baby sit my new mountain. Put your mind to work and figure out some way to plug it off, will you? I will be in my ready room." She stood up and left at a brisk pace, gesturing Travis to follow. He grinned, shook his head, and obeyed.

&

Tucker was on the catwalk above her, monitoring plasma flows with a worried frown. For a brief time she was unattended. Not that it did her any good. She had no intention of trying to break free. Even if she wanted to, her arms and legs were still too weak and uncoordinated. If there was any way to avoid it, she was never going to feel the power of both settings on that collar at the same time again.

T'Pol had never imagined anything like it. Not even the Plak Tau had come close to it. In her lifetime she had been beaten many times, kicked, raped, electro-shocked, stabbed, phasered, poisoned by Le-Matya claws, burned, starved, thirsted, picked up and thrown. But nothing had come close to what had happened to her when Rostov set both of those triggers to maximum and activated the switches. She bit back a whimper at the memory.

T'Pol gritted her teeth and tried to shift her focus outside of herself. The main view screen in Engineering was half the size of the one on the bridge, but it was easily big enough to let her see clearly from where she sat. The destruction that Sato had inflicted was still burning horribly bright. At least she had ordered a tractor beam now. Perhaps Defiant could contain the devastation to a limited area.

How could anyone, of any race, do something like this to their own planet? Only a Human could conceive of something so obscene. If Sato was willing to do this to her own people, was there any limit to what she would be willing to do to T'Pol's? She had to get free. Failing that, she had to destroy this ship.

Footsteps coming down from the catwalk announced Tucker's return. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the bond. He was mildly concerned, but neither fearful nor angry. The ship must be in good condition. The minor trembling she felt earlier had stopped after her mate re-routed extra power from the warp drive. The pulsing orange column still glowed hotter than it had when she arrived, evidence of the mighty forces this ship commanded.

Tucker stalked grimly into the office area and sat at his desk, pulling up schematics and ordering coffee from the drink dispenser. T'Pol wet her chapped lips and croaked, "If you wish, I can obtain food for you from the mess hall."

Tucker looked at her incredulously. "Say what?"

She told him tiredly, "You have invoked Vulcan law and demanded your rights as my bonded mate. I cannot deny the fact that under the laws of my people you are correct. We are each responsible for the welfare of the other. By the chronometer it is now 2.7 hours past time for the midday meal, and you have not eaten. Considering the circumstances it is unlikely that you will obtain food for yourself. Therefore I am offering to obtain it for you."

He gaped at her. Then he snorted and started choking on a strangled laugh. "Ri...iiii...ight," Tucker gasped out. "You think I'm gonna to give you the run of the ship like Archer did? It hasn't escaped my notice that he's dead, Muffin." Tucker shook his head and leaned back. "This is amazing. You honestly and truly believe that I am too stupid to live, don't you? How do you think I survived as long as I did before you met me?"

T'Pol gave it one more try. "I am attempting to comply with your wishes."

Tucker grunted. "My wishes? You think I wish to be executed by slow torture? That's an odd conclusion."

"I don't understand what you mean," she said, shifting slightly in irritation.

"It's straightforward enough," Tucker told her. "I turn you loose to wander around at will. Twenty minutes later you are out of that collar and transported down to the planet. Ten minutes after that I am back in the booth again, but this time permanently." He finished up with a determined, "I think not," and turned back to his monitor.

T'Pol sagged back against the chair. The probability of earning and then abusing Tucker's trust anytime in the reasonably near future was dismally low. That escape option would have to be discarded. What then? Unlike her, Tucker apparently overestimated his opponents. T'Pol calculated that she would require a minimum of one hour and eleven minutes to disable and remove the collar, given proper tools and time to work uninterrupted. An additional thirteen minutes would be needed to reprogram the transporter controls to input a false destination into the buffer after she left. Without unsupervised access to certain critical areas of the ship, she could never make it work.

Stealing a shuttle was even less likely to succeed. T'Pol grimly concluded that the most logical course of action to pursue was self-destruction. She needed to obtain enough information about Defiant's engines to be able to cause an irreversible core breach. Alternatively, she might be able to access the armory and set up a chain detonation of several torpedoes. Either option would be sufficient to ensure that Defiant was never used against Vulcan or the Vulcan people.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**P****ayment **

By Blackn'blue

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

Note: Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

* * *

Chapter Seven:

It didn't take Arvon long to come up with something. The prospect of not being able to give Sato an answer when she emerged from her ready room provided a powerful boost to her creative motivation. Her suggestion had the virtue of simplicity. It also pleased Sato in that it provided another chance to show off the power of her new ship.

Under Arvon's direction, Hutchinson directed Defiant's phase cannon to cut four equally spaced tunnels, 25 kilometers deep, around the perimeter of the bore hole - placing them approximately ten kilometers distant from the original target zone. Then, using Defiant's targeting computers to achieve pin point accuracy, one photon torpedo was fired into each of the new tunnels.

As Arvon nervously explained, sweating while Sato listened with her finger tapping her lower lip thoughtfully, "The shock waves will create supplemental fracturing in the strata surrounding the bore hole, hopefully collapsing the original fissure. Meanwhile, the additional fractures will provide alternate relief pathways for the built up pressure to escape. Instead of a concentrated stream of lava, we should end up with a widely diffused spread of lava trickling upward in a hundred different directions. Some activity might remain in the original crater, but not enough to cause global problems."

Hoshi grinned carnivorously. "I like it. Let's do it."

To Lieutenant Arvon's weak-kneed relief, the plan worked flawlessly. A few light aftershocks continued to rock the region for an hour or so, but overall the eruption was effectively quashed. Smoke continued to gush from the main crater however. Arvon suggested that Mount Sato would probably remain an active volcano for generations.

Hoshi leaned back in satisfaction. "Nice work, Lieutenant Commander Arvon. You are now my Chief Science Officer. Don't screw up."

Arvon grabbed the console and took several deep breaths as her head swam. "Thank you, Ma'am. I won't, Ma'am."

Hoshi turned to Communications. "Baird, hail the Imperial Senate. Tell them their new Empress demands an audience instantly."

Eighty-two seconds later the screen cleared to show the interior of the Imperial Senate chamber. A long curved table faced the screen, holding seven elderly individuals whose dignity appeared somewhat the worse for wear. The one in the middle, a middle-aged man wearing ermine and triaxian silk with platinum ornaments, swallowed and bowed his head. "Greetings from the Imperial Senate. I am Senate President Pro Tempore Landon Spirovich."

"I am Hoshi Sato the First, Empress of the Terran Empire by Right of Conquest," she proclaimed with an edge in her voice. "I demanded an audience with the entire Senate. Where are the rest of you?"

Spirovich shifted in his seat. "Your pardon, Majesty. We seven are the Administrative Council for the Senate. The other six hundred and forty three members are either off-world or happened to be unavailable at the moment. Since you specified an immediate audience, we were the only ones able to respond on such short notice."

Sato's eyes glittered. "That will make my confirmation challenging, since I expect it to be completed by noon tomorrow."

Spirovich gaped and several other members started whispering to each other in voices too low for the microphone to pick up. Hoshi snapped, "If any of you have something to say, say it to me or keep your mouths shut!"

Six sets of teeth clacked together in unison, and twelve eyes turned to focus on Spirovich, who looked remarkably unhappy. "Your Majesty, we will of course move with all possible speed to confirm your right to the throne. But it simply cannot be accomplished in so short a time. The minimum number of Senators needed to establish a quorum is-"

"Hutchinson," Sato interrupted him. "Lock phase cannon on the Senate building. Full power. Prepare to fire on my order."

"Please, Your Majesty!" Spirovich yelled. "Surely we can work something out!"

Sato tilted her head and looked at him. "Listen to me carefully, Mr. Spirovich. And the rest of you, whoever you are. As of this moment, you are irrelevant. Do you understand me?" A collective wince ran around the table. "I don't need you to establish my validity as Empress. Defiant will establish it for me. You see, Mr. Spirovich, with Defiant I can give Starfleet victory in this war that we are fighting. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Spirovich answered tightly. "We understand."

"Therefore," Sato continued, "Starfleet will support me as Empress whether you do or not. With Starfleet's support, I can take and hold the throne. With Starfleet's support, I can smash any resistance. Including the Senate and anyone else who gets in my way. Am I making myself clear?"

"Perfectly, Your Majesty." Senator Spirovich looked glumly around the table. "We will arrange for your confirmation ceremony to take place at noon tomorrow, if that suits your convenience."

"That will be acceptable," Sato told them. "You will be beamed up to Defiant for the confirmation of course. If all goes well, you can visit with your spouses and children after ceremony is finished." She relished the looked of shock and fear that spread across his face.

Sato pressed a button on the arm of her chair. "Empress Sato to Reed."

"_Reed here."_

"Have our guests been made comfortable in their new quarters?" Hoshi asked.

A humorless chuckle came through. _"Indeed they have."_

She flicked off and turned back to the screen. "Until tomorrow people." A quick gesture over her shoulder, and the screen went blank.

&

"It's 2340, Chief." Hess stood with her hands on her hips and glared at Tucker's back, still bent over his desk. "You have been here off and on since 0530. Get your ass up out of that chair and haul it to bed. You won't be worth a crap to yourself or anyone else if you don't."

T'Pol slitted her eyes open and watched with interest. She still struggled to understand Tucker's command style. No other department on Enterprise had operated as efficiently as Tucker's, producing such effective results with so few personnel. But somehow, no one ever bothered to investigate exactly how Tucker managed to achieve such results. Engineering on the NX class ships was a hell of radiation, dangerous gas leaks, arcing electrical conduits, slippery floors, falling sharp objects, and other dangers. No one went down there if they could help it, or stayed longer than they had to.

T'Pol had spent the day observing her mate interacting with the crew under his command. She remained constantly on the edge of astonishment. Tucker permitted a degree of casual familiarity from his people that would have earned severe discipline in any other department. According to T'Pol's training, both as a Vulcan and as a Starfleet officer, familiarity bred contempt. Only a respect born of fear could maintain an effective command presence.

Yet they obeyed him. They obeyed him without question or any indication of insolence. If anything, the personnel in Engineering appeared to obey Tucker more readily and willingly than the bridge crew had obeyed Captain Forrest. Certainly they responded to Tucker's orders more promptly and cheerfully than her own science team had ever reacted to her orders. She resolved to spend her meditation time this evening considering the matter.

Tucker snorted in amusement and turned to look up at his second. Anna's indignation had her just one jot short of tapping her foot at him. He couldn't stop a chuckle. Throwing down his stylus, Tucker gave up the fight before it started. "All right Anna. This can wait until tomorrow. Just don't spank me."

"You'd start making it a habit," she retorted. "Get out of here."

"Did anyone get that new stuff installed in my quarters?" he asked as he pulled himself stiffly to his feet.

Hess sighed impatiently. "Yes. Five hours ago. Leave."

"Yesmaambossladymaam." Tucker grinned and pulled his forelock. Hess snorted and stalked out, waiting until her back was turned to let the smile out.

Tucker picked up the controller and turned to T'Pol. "Let's get this straight up front. I'm tired. I don't feel like games. You do what I tell you, all will be well. We go to my quarters and we both get some sleep. You give me any grief at all, of any kind, and I kick the switches and leave you on the floor until morning. Got it?"

"Understood." T'Pol told him steadily. "I have no desire to provoke you."

"Good. That makes it mutual" He stepped over to the doorway and told her, "Start breaking them, one at a time. Slowly."

T'Pol wrinkled her brow. He wasn't even going to get close enough to cut her loose. This situation definitely presented challenges. She concentrated and started snapping the cable ties around her arms as instructed, one at a time. Each one dug into her arm painfully and snapped with a loud report. When her arms were free she took a moment to flex them before reaching up to break the loop around her throat. The effort left deep dents in her fingers.

"Stand up slowly. Good. Now walk this way very slowly, don't spook me." Tucker back away as she approached. "Stop there. Now face the lift and walk toward the doors, keeping your hands off to your sides. Stop two meters in front of the guards."

She obeyed. Tucker asked quietly, "Lawrence. Got the shackles I asked for?"

"Yes, Sir," The left hand guard responded. She stepped forward and fastened a thick handcuff around T'Pol's left wrist, then forced her hand up next to her jaw and looped the loose end of the chain around her neck, snapping it back on itself to form a sliding noose. The guard then repeated the procedure with the other hand. When she stepped back T'Pol was wearing two handcuffs, each fastened to a choke collar around her own throat. She could not apply more than minimal pressure with either hand without cutting off her own air.

"Forward into the lift," Tucker slumped and said tiredly. "Face the wall and don't say anything. I am not in the mood for verbal fencing tonight."

The lift ride to officer's quarters was a nerve wracking ordeal for both of them, for different reasons. T'Pol felt fortunate that they met no one in the corridor. It would be typical Human behavior to trip her deliberately, as soon as someone saw her predicament. The guard outside Tucker's doorway drew his phase pistol and stepped away from the entrance as they approached.

"Anything, Drew?" Tucker asked.

"No, Sir." The guard, who wore a hideous burn alongside his own face even larger than Tucker's, spoke with difficulty due to having only half a mouth. "All clear."

"How you feeling these days?" Tucker asked him. T'Pol caught an undercurrent of something unspoken.

"Good." It was hard for her to be certain, but the damaged vocal cords seemed to brighten. "Better."

"Nice to be away from the NX, isn't it?" Again, there was a sense of something unspoken. T'Pol's eyes narrowed.

"It sure is, Sir."

"Make sure you report for your pre-shift briefing tomorrow. Got it?"

"Yes, Sir! Wouldn't miss it, Sir!" He seemed remarkably enthusiastic. More evidence of the effectiveness of Tucker's command methods. She really needed to study this in depth.

"Once we go in, the Vulcan does not come out except by direct order of the Empress. Got that? If I try to bring her out myself, assume she has me under control and stun both of us. Then get Rostov or Hess up here," Tucker told him.

"Understood, Sir. The Vulcan stays inside, come hell or high water."

"Good man." Tucker keyed in the door code and told T'Pol, "Inside."

She walked into total darkness until Tucker said, "Lights. Low level." The standard Defiant officer's cabin had been outfitted with a few surprises. A cot mattress lay on the floor next to the bathroom, with a chain attached to the wall near one end. A selection of personal items that she supposed must belong to Tucker were scattered around. "Over to the mattress," he told her.

T'Pol froze and felt her mouth go dry. _"It is not the same," _ she told herself. She kept repeating it, but the old fear was a chill wind that blew through her memory and froze her feet to the deck.

"Move it!" Tucker demanded. He punctuated the command with a small jolt from the pleasure circuit. T'Pol closed her throat to hold in a tiny whimper and forced herself to walk over to the mattress. Controlling her breathing with over sixty years of practice, she managed to sit down with a trace of control intact and waited for the abuse to begin.

Tucker stepped over and unsnapped the chains around her neck, then moved back quickly. He paced widely around her and nudged the leg iron over to her with his foot. "Lock it around your ankle."

Even now, he feared her. Suddenly the realization empowered her. She was a prisoner and a slave. But her master feared her. And rightfully so. For she held power over him and they both knew it. Arrogantly, T'Pol picked up the shackle and contemptuously fastened it around her leg. What did it matter? The power she held over him could not be blocked by steel.

Tucker backed away and sat down on his bunk. He let out his breath with a whoosh and leaned back, just breathing for a minute. "The chain," he finally told her, "is long enough to reach the head. You won't be able to close the door completely, but oh well. Even if you get loose from it, I suggest you stay away from trying to get out through the air vents. They are welded shut, booby trapped, and monitored."

"Are you not afraid," she sneered, "that I will attack you while you are in the shower?"

"Not likely." Tucker pulled out a hypo. "This is going to knock you on your ass after you finish eating dinner and clean up. You should be out long enough for me to get some rest. This other one will wake you up in the morning when I am ready to go back to work."

T'Pol's neck hair prickled. She fought hard to keep her voice steady. "Would you not enjoy yourself more if I were awake?" She tried with only moderate success to inject a note of derision into her voice.

"What?" He seemed honestly confused.

"You have demanded your rights as my mate," she said bitterly. "I am here, chained to a bed. I have no escape."

"No way." Tucker looked at her. "You weren't listening, were you? It'll be a scalding hot day on Andoria's south pole before I ever make skin contact with you again, Lady. I don't know, T'Pol. I really don't know what it would take to convince you that I have enough basic intelligence to feed myself without supervision. After what you did to me, you think I am going let you have another shot at digging into my mind? No thank you, Snookums. Not gonna happen."

She blinked. "I..."

"I guess we are going to have a real problem when your Pon Farr comes around again," Tucker sighed. T'Pol's eyed widened in chagrin. "If what I read is right, then once you go into the fever, it will effect me too." He looked over and saw her nod.

"Yes." She rubbed her face and looked away. "The bond will ensure that you enter the Pon Farr with me. In five years."

"I can find somebody to help me through it," he mused, ignoring her sudden look of angry horror. "I don't expect that will be a problem. If nothing else, I can always hire someone."

"NO!" T'Pol half yelled, rising to her knees. "That... it..."

"Well what do you expect?" he asked her. "I'm not about to let you touch me. Do you think I'm crazy? But you will need somebody too. I can't have you dying on me, can I? But if I get a Vulcan to do it, I may end up having to kill him. This Kahlifee thing is confusing, but it looks like when two Vulcan males both end up tied to the same female they usually end up fighting. Is that right?"

She stared in speechless shock. He waited for a moment before going on. "I really don't think that would be fair. I mean, why should I end up killing some guy who never did me any harm? Maybe I should just hire somebody else. Like an Orion maybe. I hear they are not too discriminating. Or a Denobulan. They will mate with anything. That might be the best option. What do you think?"

"This is abominable! What you are proposing is corrupt and perverted! Only a Human would sink so low as to suggest such a thing!" She seethed. "We are bonded mates!'

"So?"

"SO!?!" She screeched. "To suggest- to seriously suggest that we should deliberately arrange to HIRE replacements..." T'Pol started choking on her rage.

"Why not? Tucker asked coldly. "Unless you want to die in Pon Farr? Of course, if you have someone else you would rather use, by all means let me know and I will see if they are acceptable. As long as there is no reason to suspect that you are going to kill them, or use them to kill me, I have no objection."

She froze. _"What have I done?"_ She licked her lips and slowly said, "When the Pon Farr begins, instinct will drive us together."

"At the start," Tucker agreed. "But once the fever gets far enough advanced, I will accept anyone since I am Human. That much has been documented in Defiant's universe. And it says that if the Vulcan's mate has already taken an alternate, then you will also be willing to accept an alternate rather than die. Only if I do it first of course. But that won't be a problem."

T'Pol felt sick. _"I will feel it through the bond. I will feel it when he is with her. All of it." _

"Let's get some food," Tucker said abruptly. "Then clean up and get some sleep. I need to get an early start tomorrow." He moved over to the dispenser that Defiant's database referred to as a "replicator".

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Payment **

By Blackn'blue

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

Note: Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

* * *

Chapter Eight:

"Wake up"

T'Pol heard the voice distantly. Something jarred the surface she was resting on, and the command was repeated impatiently. She forced her eyes open blearily. Tucker was standing next to the mattress, holding a hypo while looking tired and dissatisfied. A Human guard, different from the one on duty the night before, stood several steps away with a 23rd century phase pistol pointed at her.

"Get up and get dressed. We've been summoned to the Empress's confirmation ceremony. You are not going to make us late, even if I have to drag you down there naked." Tucker meant it, she could tell that much even without feeling it through the bond.

T'Pol nodded and sat up. She caught sight of the chronometer on the wall above Tucker's bunk and felt puzzled. "It is 11:09. Why did you not wake me earlier?"

Tucker stepped back and motioned at the folded stack on the floor next to her. "Grab those and dress yourself. Stop wasting time with questions." T'Pol noticed that the leg shackle had already been removed. She picked up the clothing and moved into the bathroom.

Tucker had confiscated her uniform the day before, replacing it with fresh underwear and a simple cotton gown for sleep wear. When she unfolded the stack in her arms she discovered standard engineering crewman's coveralls and foot gear.

There was one minor difference - the coveralls had fluorescent green bands fastened around the arms and legs. She recalled that normal Human vision was most sensitive to green and red. Red coveralls with bright green bands would make clandestine movement quite challenging, she considered ruefully.

She emerged wearing the new clothes and Tucker barked, "Stand still." He told the guard, "If either of her hands so much as brushes against me, stun us both and then notify her majesty about what happened." The guard acknowledged the order. Tucker stepped forward cautiously and told her, "Raise both of your hands up next to your cheeks, palms forward." She complied and felt him loop the wrist chains back into position as choke collars, just as they had been the day before. With the latches on top of her wrists she could not even twist her arms without throttling herself.

Tucker look faintly relieved. He backed up to his bunk, picked up the controller and said, "Let's go."

They proceeded toward _Defiant_'s shuttlecraft bay following the procedure that was beginning to become familiar. T'Pol walking two meters in front, Tucker nervously following behind her with fingers on the buttons. She was tempted to sigh. There were undeniable advantages to having the psychological upper hand over one's captor. But this was too much of a good thing. She had apparently intimidated her mate to the point that he was willing to credit her with almost supernatural abilities.

Not only was Tucker unlikely to drop his guard around her. He had also issued instruction to his subordinates that made it plain to them that she was supremely dangerous and capable of almost anything. Knowing that their own superior feared her would make it impossible to persuade any of them to consider her harmless. Under the circumstances gaining access to anything other than a bathroom was going to be impossible for the foreseeable future.

Patience was her only option. She would have to cultivate the patience of Surak himself. Above all she must avoid doing anything to provoke or intimidate Tucker. She must always present herself as someone who was resigned to her fate and willing to submit.

In retrospect, boasting to him about how she had used him aboard _Enterprise_ was the worst mistake she had ever made. Had she kept her mouth shut she would still have his trust. Or if not his trust, at least some vestige of his desire that she could use against him. But she had allowed her anger and her vengeful sense of triumph to overrule her good sense. Thus were the principles of Surak once more proven true. Her emotions had overtaken her logic, and now she paid the price.

T'Pol vowed to herself that never again would she permit her logic to be overtaken by irrational emotion. In all her lifetime, whenever she had acted on emotion she had suffered for it. When Forrest lost his power struggle against Archer, she should have accepted it. Instead of attempting to free him and re-establish a failed chain of command, she should have supported Archer and worked to mitigate his hatred of Vulcans. Then if necessary she would have been in a better position to kill Archer herself. Instead she had tried to help Forrest out of misguided loyalty and earned Archers permanent distrust, while further solidifying his hatred of Vulcans.

Instead of attempting to salvage _Defiant_, she should have worked to destroy it from the first. It would have been a relatively simple matter when she was free. But she had recoiled at the thought of taking so many innocent lives, and wasting so much valuable knowledge. And now, because she had succumbed to emotional weakness, this mighty vessel stood ready to devastate her entire planet.

No. No more. She would live and die by logic alone. There would be no place for emotion in her life from this point forward.

The shuttlecraft hanger was festively adorned with heavily armed guards, tastefully arranged around the perimeter of the huge open area. Tucker directed T'Pol to move into a spot at the rear of the waiting crowd of senior officers and took position directly behind her. The senators were still inside their shuttlepod, having just been permitted entry less than half an hour before. Everyone assumed parade rest and settled in for the long haul. In a case like this it was a given that the empress was going to keep them waiting a while.

The chronometer affixed to the bulkhead read 12:46 when the main access whooshed open, and the five most senior military officers in the Terran empire walked through. Admiral Consuela Martinson, the heroine of Rigil, the most decorated woman in the history of the empire; Admiral George Hiro, Fleet Commander during the Orion campaign; General Ezlas Mosala, officially credited with 178 personal kills during the conquest of Andoria; Admiral Nawaz Higgins, who had lost an arm in the battle against the final defenses of the Tellarite Confederation - yet managed somehow to retain consciousness and commanded his ships from a biobed in sickbay into victory, and; General Damien Kuchera, the most senior member of the High Command, who had led his ground forces directly into Shi'Kahr during the first wave assault of the original Vulcan invasion.

Every Human present instinctively snapped to rigid attention, even before Reed had a chance to give the order. T'Pol stiffened as well, with pure blinding hatred. Only a lifetime of discipline, and the certain knowledge that she would never live to reach them, kept her from leaping for the throats of the five butchers as they strutted past. Her eyes fixed on Kuchera, who had ordered the destruction of her family's ancestral home, and glittered.

Reed stepped forward and directed an honor guard in full dress uniform to escort the bigwigs to their designated viewing area. The soldiers stepped back and formed a protective wall behind the Admirals and Generals. A second contingent of guards formed a double line from the entrance to a point opposite the shuttlepod and presented arms. Two minutes later, the empress and her consort entered.

The ceremony itself was brief, businesslike, and to the point. As soon as Sato was in position the shuttlepod's hatch opened and the Administrative Council emerged, led by Senator Spirovich carrying the Imperial coronet. Fortunately the coronet was used only for ceremonial occasions and almost never left the capitol, otherwise Sato's attack on the last emperor would have required a delay while a new one was manufactured. The senators paused briefly to arrange their formal robes with as much dignity as the situation permitted, then formed into two files behind Spirovich as he approached Sato and offered her the coronet on bended knee.

Sato smirked sardonically. "Traditionally I suppose, you are supposed to place it on me. But I have never been overly bound by tradition, and I see no reason to start now. If I were, I would not be empress now, would I? I made myself empress, so I think I will symbolize that fact properly." Travis shot her a narrow look.

She picked up the coronet between her hands and raised it high into the air. "People of the empire! All here present, and all who watch this broadcast! I, Hoshi Sato the First, do hereby proclaim myself Empress of the Terran Empire by Right of Conquest! I have lawfully taken power by slaying my predecessor, as is prescribed in law! By law, by tradition, and by force of arms, I am your rightful ruler!" She held the coronet for a moment more, then lowered it gently to her head.

The senators knelt and bowed while cheering erupted throughout the shuttle bay. T'Pol's lip curled in a rabid snarl as she heard her mate join in with the general enthusiasm. Through the bond she could feel relief and mild satisfaction from him, as if he had accomplished something. Why would this matter to him? Something was going on that she was unaware of, and it itched at her mind.

Hoshi let the cheering continue for several minutes. As soon as it started to show the slightest sign of weakening she raised both arms, palms outward. The noise slowly died down. "My subjects," she said, "my heart is warmed by your loyalty." A wolfish grin flashed across her face for the barest instant. _"And the fact that I have always been careful to reward those who help me has nothing to do with it of course,"_ she thought sarcastically.

She looked down at the senators and intoned, "I will now accept your oaths." One by one, starting with Spirovich, they stepped forward, knelt, and swore their lifetime fealty. Finally it was done, and she told them quietly with a smile, "Very nice. I might almost have been able to believe you meant it." Sato looked at Travis and nodded. "If you will follow my consort, Fleet Admiral Travis Mayweather, he will escort you to an area where you will be permitted visitation privileges with your families." None of the professional politicians allowed a trace of expression to touch their faces. They merely murmured polite thanks and fell in behind Travis obediently.

Reed muttered, "You are going to have to kill them sooner or later, you know that. Hostages are not a stable way to control people."

Hoshi murmured back, "When I need your opinion I will give it to you. Now follow me." She swept elegantly across the deck to stand in front of the High Command officers, who bowed their heads in respectful acknowledgment.

"Empress," Kuchera greeted her. "We are most honored to be invited to this ceremony."

"The honor is well earned, General Kuchera," Sato told him, sweeping her glance over the five of them. "Well earned by all of you. I invited you here because of that, and because we have much to discuss and time is passing swiftly. Unlike the... civilians," she coughed into her hand significantly, and several of the oldsters smiled grimly, "I am well aware that we are in the midst of a war. Whatever the propaganda machine cranks out, this insurrection is not a minor police action. It is a full blown rebellion. I am also well aware that Humans are dying. _Defiant_ can win this war for the empire, and I intend to see that it is used to the best effect as swiftly and efficiently as possible."

Admiral Martinson bared her teeth in delight. "This is precisely what I was praying to hear, Your Majesty. Is this craft battle ready?"

"It is," Sato assured them. "However, it was designed for a crew of over two hundred. Currently we are operating with the surviving crew members of _Enterprise_. The ones who are left alive after the treacherous attack by the non-Humans. We have less than fifty people to man a ship designed for two hundred and forty. We can handle it. Obviously, since we brought this ship home and defeated several enemies along the way. But it is not an optimal situation."

"This can easily be remedied, Your Majesty," Kuchera told her swiftly. "If you will deign to provide us with a list of your personnel requirements, we will move instantly to fill them."

Hoshi's lips twisted. "Your eagerness to serve is noted and appreciated, General. I will certainly take advantage of it. However I plan to allow some of my officers to... I believe the term is 'cherry pick?'... at least a portion of their people. _Enterprise_ was the flagship of Starfleet, and her crew was the best of the best. I intend to tolerate nothing less for _Defiant_."

"Of course," Martinson said, with her eyes shining as she surveyed _Defiant_'s huge shuttlebay, and the sleek row of futuristic craft that lined the outer hull. "The Empress's own flagship? The mightiest weapon the empire has ever seen? Nothing less than our absolute finest could be good enough to serve aboard her."

"I am pleased to see that we agree," Sato said dryly. "In line with that sentiment, you should become familiar with my command staff, as you will be working closely with all of them." She saw the five senior officers straighten and tighten their expressions. Hoshi was confident that she could read their collective minds, even without Vulcan telepathy. _Here it comes,_ they would all be thinking, _Time to play politics with the empress's favorite toadies._ No doubt they were all experts at manipulating the old emperor's political appointees, and felt confident of their ability to overawe the junior officers they were about to meet. She hid a grin behind her hand. If they only knew.

"You have already met my consort, Fleet Admiral Travis Mayweather," she said blandly. Some of them twitched. Kuchera took it upon himself to answer for all of them.

"Yes, Your Majesty. We have indeed. A most impressive young man." To Sato it sounded like there was a tinge of real respect in his voice. She recalled that Kuchera had risen through the ranks himself, and spent more time on the battlefield than he had in an office. Perhaps he at least was sincere.

"I recommend that you cultivate a cordial relationship with Travis," She advised them, "since most of my directions regarding troop and fleet deployments will be routed through him." They nodded. "But I don't intend to waste my time trying to do the job of specialists for them." Their empress looked them over, sweeping her gaze from one end of the row to the other.

"I would not attempt to perform surgery. I leave that to the surgeons. I would not attempt to rebuild a warp engine. I leave that to the engineers." She started pacing from one end of the line to the other, then back again, like an officer reviewing her troops. Unconsciously the officers all straightened by conditioned reflex.

"You people are the military specialists. You have all been doing this longer than I have been alive, and I expect you to know how to do your jobs without any hand holding from me." She stopped in front of Martinson and looked her in the eye. "I am a specialist in communication. That is my skill, that is what I was trained in, that is what I do. I communicate. I talk to people. I listen to people. I watch people and read their body language. I interpret what people really mean based on what they say, and based on what they do _not_ say." Martinson blinked uncertainly.

Hoshi started pacing again and continued speaking. "This is the specialty that I intend to employ to its fullest in establishing my reign. I have spent my career learning how to tell when someone is lying or hiding something. I have spent my entire life learning how to listen and understand not only what is being said, but what is actually meant." She stopped and saw their expressions, ranging from thoughtful to a touch nervous. Sato nodded in satisfaction.

"Now," she said abruptly, "my officers." She gestured to Reed, who strode over stiffly. "My Security chief, Major Reed." She smiled coldly. "Major Reed is a remarkable individual. He combines in one individual a complete absence of conscience, and an amazing devotion to the fine art of inflicting pain on others. I told you that I am a specialist in communication, as you recall? Major Reed is one of the easiest people to communicate with that I have ever encountered. Pain and fear are the only languages that he understands, or is capable of understanding. But he speaks both of them fluently. In fact, he is quite eloquent." She looked at Reed with an spark in her eyes. "It might almost be said that he is, in his own way, a poet." Then she chuckled. No one else looked amused. Reed returned her look with flared nostrils, then turned to regard the senior officers arranged in front of them.

"Major Reed!" Sato said sharply. Reed's heels clicked together and he straightened as if yanked upward by a string. Sato smiled pleasantly. "As of this moment, you are hereby promoted to the rank of Colonel, with all of the rights and responsibilities commensurate therewith." Reed's eyes widened and his mouth threatened briefly to broaden into something resembling a faint smile, but he caught it in time. Sato told him, "Return to your position." Reed saluted and obeyed crisply, marching back to his spot with a new spring in his step.

Admiral Hiro watched Reed walk away with a disapproving expression. Hoshi sauntered over and asked, "Do you have a problem, Admiral?"

The old man looked her in the eye without flinching. "A problem? Certainly not, Your Majesty. But it may be that you have. Or will have, if you permit such a man to remain close to you. Much less promote him to greater rank and power."

Sato raised an eyebrow. "Reed is not stupid, Admiral. He is damaged, true. Emotionally damaged beyond repair. But his mind is intact, and he is well aware that he could never hold power in his own right. He hates me of course, as he hates everyone and everything. But as long as I continue to provide him with what he needs he will remain loyal."

"I sincerely hope you are correct, Majesty," Hiro told her.

She eyed him carefully for a moment, evaluating his tone. Then she turned her head and called out, "Commander Tucker! To me!"

T'Pol felt a jolt of her mate's surprise through the bond. He growled softly at her, "Don't even think about moving," before pacing slowly over to stand next to the empress. She stood perfectly still and focused her Vulcan hearing on the conversation.

Tucker stopped in front of Sato and offered her a salute. "Commander Tucker reporting as ordered, Ma'am," he said deadpan. Her lips twitched in real delight. The man was impossible. What kind of idiot had Archer and, yes, even Forrest been to think that this man was a coward? Here he stood, in front of the newly crowned empress of the Terran empire and the five most powerful officers in Starfleet, and he still retained enough insolence to mockingly remind her about their last meeting.

"Of course you are," she jabbed back delicately, "You always obey orders." Hoshi turned to the assembled dignitaries and told them, "May I present Commander Charles Tucker the Third, the best warp drive engineer in Starfleet and your future Imperial Minister of Starfleet Research and Development."

That snatched their attention. Martinson looked him over carefully. "I believe Admiral Black mentioned you once, Commander. He seemed quite impressed with your skills." Her tone was neutral.

Tucker looked at Sato, who nodded approving permission for him to respond. "Admiral Black thought I was a gifted mechanic, but just as disposable as any other engineer," Tucker told her gruffly. "Since the average lifespan of an engineer aboard an NX ship was less than eight years, most of us never had the time to gain the technical background that the sons and daughters of Admirals and Generals enjoyed."

Martinson's expression darkened. "No one forced you to study engineering."

Tucker chuckled hoarsely. "My family was poor, so I got drafted. When I got out of Basic Training they gave me an aptitude test and offered me a choice. Engineering or cannon fodder. I figured engineering might give me a bare chance at eventually working my way up to the bridge. Things didn't quite work out that way, but this is just as good."

Hoshi couldn't hold it in any longer and burst into giggles. "Give up any hope of intimidating him," she advised Martinson. "Forrest couldn't do it, Archer couldn't do it, and I can't do it. He has been facing the certainty of a slow, painful death for so long that he simply no longer gives a damn. But his technical skills are superlative, and that is what I demand. He keeps my ship running flawlessly, and his department is the only one on the ship where I never have to deal with personnel problems."

"I have sworn my service, Lady," Tucker told her roughly, "and my word is good."

"Strangely enough," Sato mused, "I am tempted to believe you. If this were the _Defiant_'s universe, I might even be willing to accept your word. As it is we will simply have to see what develops, won't we?"

T'Pol's eyebrows drew together. It had never occurred to her to wonder about Tucker's background. It seemed that she had more in common with her mate than either of them had realized. For the first time she felt a hint of regret for what had passed between them. He was Human, but he was not completely unlike her after all.

Immediately she forced her breathing into the proper patterns, driving the emotion into oblivion. Regret was illogical and futile. What had happened was over and done. The future was all that mattered.

Sato dismissed Tucker and called up the other department heads one after another. She made a point of introducing Arvon as "the person who designed my new mountain", which left the five senior officers at a loss for the proper reaction, to Hoshi's amusement.

After the introductions were finished, Sato spoke briefly into the intercom. A few moments later Travis returned, escorting the Administrative Council wearing grim expressions. T'Pol didn't bother to listen to the formal leave taking ceremony. She was watching her mate, who was watching the senior Starfleet officers closely and fingering something in his pocket. The feeling she was picking up through the bond was cold and hard, like a sword blade that had been left encased in ice. T'Pol swallowed and tried to regulate her breathing.

&

Tucker looked down at the PADD he was holding. "Hess, come over here a minute."

Anna looked up from the junction box she was working on and trotted over with an inquiring look on her face. "What is it, Commander?"

"Didn't you tell me," Tucker asked her, still keeping his eyes fixed on the PADD, "that your brother got assigned to the _Ghengis Khan _?"

Hess felt her throat dry up. "Yes, Sir," she told him in a half whisper.

"Does he know anything?" Tucker asked brusquely, still not looking up.

Anna forced herself to wet her lips and swallow. "He is just out of Basic, Sir. A crewman. He was assigned three months ago."

"Well then," Tucker finally glanced up and managed to paste a disgusted look on his face. "We better get him over here before Rotterdam has a chance to ruin him. I don't want to have to spend six months un-teaching him Commander can't-find-his-ass-with-a-map Rotterdam's bullshit before I can show him the proper way to do things."

Hess didn't know whether to faint, squeal with joy and hug him, or burst into tears. "Thank you, Sir." Her voice cracked. "Thank..." she choked. Tucker waved his hand impatiently.

"Don't thank me. This is going to mean more work for you. Actually it is going to mean a lot more work for all of us at first. I have clearance from Her Majesty to requisition any personnel I want, from any ship in the fleet. As the Imperial flagship we have a blank check. But how in the name of Cochrane am I supposed to know the names of the best qualified people in all of Starfleet?" He complained.

Hess coughed and sniffed, rubbing her nose and straightened up. "How can I help, Sir?"

"You, and Rostov, and Kelby, and Massaro, and Kelly, and everyone else can help by giving me names to work with," he told her. "Put your minds to work and think of people that you know, that you can trust. I don't care how much experience they have. If they survive Basic, and cadet training, and then actually make it to a ship posting, I figure they must be intelligent enough to be teachable by definition. Nobody knows this ship yet anyway, we are all learning as we go. What I want are team players. You know what I am talking about."

Anna's eyes were shining like diamonds. "Yes, Sir. Yes, Commander Tucker. I know exactly what you are talking about," she breathed.

Tucker said, "Good." More quietly he added, "Priority will be given to relatives, and hardship cases. But keep it low key and don't make it public. Some of the crewmen, especially the third shift, aren't real solid. You know who I mean. We may need to replace a few."

"I know exactly who I have on my list," Hess told him between her teeth. Tucker snorted.

"Do the best you can, and have people drop into my office when they get the chance with the names." He turned and walked back toward his desk, deep in thought. He sat down with barely a glance at T'Pol, who watched him with deep interest.

In the four days since Sato's confirmation as empress, subspace had been crowded with messages from ships proclaiming their allegiance to the new regime. Each of the Terran colonies had officially acknowledged Sato's authority and issued the traditional invitation for her to visit. Most new rulers eventually got around to making the circuit of courtesy calls on each colony, although in some cases not for several years after they took the throne. Given the current military situation, nobody would feel slighted if she didn't hurry about it.

Tucker brought up the ancient file on his monitor that he had been studying. Most people looking over his shoulder would have been befuddled at the tangled mass of graphics on the screen. He leaned forward and rubbed his chin, reading the scribbles carefully. The schematics were scanned copies of the original designs for the NX class warp five engine used in _Defiant's_ home universe. Tucker had downloaded them from the archived database in order to study the basic differences between those engines, and the ones used in the empire's ships.

So far he had found several improvements in the downloaded designs. But what seriously engrossed his attention were the scribbled notes that covered the image. These graphics, scanned images of what were once paper copies, had been used as reference drawings during the design of the engine. The engineering team who constructed the prototype had made notes and corrections by hand directly on the paper. Each engineer, when they made a change to the plans, had initialed the change to identify the person responsible for the alteration.

And a substantial number of the notations bore the initials C.T.

Tucker sat back and took a deep breath. The database clearly stated that his counterpart was involved in the design of, and was chief engineer aboard, the first Human warp five vessel. But it was one thing to read it in a historical report. It was another, and somewhat shocking, thing to see actual notes in his own handwriting.

"Your counterpart was most adept at improvisation."

Tucker glanced across at T'Pol, who sat in the other chair wearing a duplicate of the ankle chain that secured her when she was in their quarters. Although this chain was significantly shorter.

"Yeah, he was. Among other things," Tucker replied. For once she didn't detect irritation or fear in his tone. Perhaps he was too preoccupied. Could she begin the task of weakening his defenses?

"You been looking at this?" he inquired.

"My eyesight is adequate," she told him, "and there is little else for me to do here except observe. I deduce that you plan to copy your namesake's work in order to gain the prize that Sato has promised you."

Too late, she realized the potential implications of her words and gritted her teeth. She had never bothered to consider Human 'feelings' before, and the effort left her at a serious disadvantage. But it would not serve her purpose to antagonize Tucker by implying that he was less capable than his counterpart.

However, he seemed to take her remarks at face value. "Yep, that's exactly what I plan to do. It's the reason I'm still breathing after all." At her puzzled look, he chuckled. "You haven't figured that out yet? You really aren't very slick with Human interactions, are you?"

"I am not Human," she told him with dignity. "But I have studied Human behavior for longer than you have been alive. I was under the impression that you were retained as Chief Engineer because of your skills." Just in time she stopped herself from continuing with, _"and your lack of ambition."_

His lip twisted in a sneer. "They could have put Hess in. She could have handled it. No, I am a liability. I know too much. I served too long on Enterprise. I know where the bodies are buried. I remember past mistakes. I remember weak points. I am potentially dangerous. The smart thing to do would have been to dump me."

T'Pol felt the beginnings of foreboding. His words were logical. Why had she not seen this? No matter how many years she studied them, she might never gain true insight into the subtle interplay of Human social warfare.

"Then you conclude," she said slowly, considering the ramifications swiftly as she spoke, "that they kept you alive because your namesake was responsible for originating much of the basic technology on which _ Defiant_ is based?"

"Now you're getting it," Tucker nodded in mocking approval. "Travis is nothing if not thorough."

"Travis?" Her eyebrow rose.

"Sorry. I misspoke," he chuckled quietly. "Of course I meant her majesty."

Tucker pulled in his lip and chewed on it for a moment as he turned back to the screen. _No doubt he spotted my counterpart's name right away, _he mused._ So why not use me? It makes perfect sense. It's so sensible that even Hoshi would have been able to see it, once Travis pointed it out to her._

"But it means," he went on, half thinking out loud, "that I better start showing some results, fast, or they are gonna conclude that I've been too damaged by radiation and flush me out the hanger deck." And Travis knew him far too well to underestimate him. Hoshi could be handled, but Travis could not.

Tucker rubbed his forehead against the incipient headache. He had recognized Travis Mayweather for what he was the day that the young man had come aboard. Tucker was picking up a late lunch in the mess hall and noticed a gathering of junior crewmen around the new face. He ambled over, mildly curious, and sat down nearby. Half an hour of observation and eavesdropping told him all he needed to know. Subsequent encounters on the bridge merely confirmed it. Mayweather was a walking weapon with a razor sharp brain, and the patience of a hunting cat.

Meanwhile Travis had been sizing him up in return. The two of them soon arrived at an unspoken truce, making it a point to stay out of each other's way for the next few years. Circumstances had never required them to come into direct opposition. Until now.

"Have you found anything that you can use then?"

T'Pol's voice pulled him out of his reverie. He looked curiously at her. "What do you care? You said you were ready to die for the cause anyway. I'll tell you what. Just to show you what I nice sonuvabitch I can be. If I get any warning that they are going to eliminate me, I will make it a point to shoot you first, before Hoshi has a chance to get her hands on you. How's that? Could you get a better deal anywhere?"

She looked strangely at him. "Why would you offer this?"

He shrugged. "Because I have always been a fool, all my life. I see no reason to change a winning strategy now." He turned back to the screen, leaving her to sit and ponder the enigma of the Human male mind. The man was maddening. He offered none of the usual handles by which she was accustomed to manipulating Humans. He did not desire her sexually anymore - her own fault. He seemed not to consider her skills of any use to him. Her knowledge did not interest him. He cared nothing for her strength or fighting ability, he already had a plentiful supply of bodyguards. She had no social nor professional contacts to offer him. She could not appeal to him on the basis of their past history together, he would collapse into hysterical laughter if she tried it.

Nothing. She had no lever to use on him. Frustrated fury began to build, again. Once more, she turned her gaze inward and concentrated on meditation breathing exercises until she regained control. Patience. Something would materialize eventually. The essence of life is change. Her circumstances would inevitably change. When they did, she must be ready to seize the advantage. Already she had gained some freedom. Whereas before she had been bound hand and throat, now she was merely secured by one ankle with both hands free. True, the wrist shackles were still attached and could be re-fastened at any time. But her passive behavior had persuaded Tucker to permit her at least this much. If she could steal a tool of some kind, it would be short work to pick the lock of the collar. All she needed was time.

&

"Incoming message, Ma'am," Baird announced. A pause, then, "From the Vulcan High Command."

Sato snorted. "Isn't that special? Let them wait. Go get me a cup of hot chocolate first, then put them through." Baird stared for a second, then shook off his surprise and jumped to obey. Hoshi sipped her cocoa and leaned back indolently in the command chair. Finally she said, "Now."

The main viewscreen lit up to display the visage of an elderly Vulcan woman. He face was deeply lined and marked with a network of pale scars. Her white hair was thinning, and pulled back into a severe bun. Everything about her appearance spoke of hard fought years. But her eyes remained bright and laser sharp. As soon as the connection cleared she inclined her head and said, "Empress Sato. I offer gratitude for this audience."

"As well you should, V'Lar," Sato snapped. "Considering that your people are in the process of rebelling. What do you want? Unless it is unconditional surrender, I am not interested."

"Our planet is not rebelling, Your Majesty," V'Lar said calmly. "Only a small portion of our people have chosen this misguided path. Vulcan itself remains loyal to the empire, and always has."

"A worthless excuse," Hoshi snarled. "Typical of the kind of evasive lies that traitors attempt to use to escape the consequences of their treason. The fact remains that Vulcan ships are firing on empire ships. Vulcans are killing Terrans. Therefore, Vulcan is in a state of open rebellion against the empire. You know the penalty for this treason. You have always known the penalty."

"We know," V'Lar did not flinch as she recited, "One hundred lives of the subject race for every Terran life lost. Confiscation and/or destruction of all ships and weapons of the subject race. Embargo on all trade with the subject race's home world for a period of not less than fifty Terran years. Tribute to be exacted equal to ten times the value of property lost or destroyed due to the rebellion. Loss of empire citizenship for all members of the subject race found to be in rebellion."

"Well?" Sato challenged.

"We offer surrender," V'Lar said. "But we implore one condition out of mercy. We beg that instead of taking the lives of one hundred of our people for each Terran life, instead you take the lives of the Vulcan government officials who were responsible for allowing this outrage to take place."

Sato paused with her cup half raised. "Are you serious? You think a few worthless clerks will make up for the Starfleet warriors that we have lost?"

"Of course not," the old woman replied. "We offer the lives of our entire government. Starting with the Ministers of the High Command."

Hoshi sat her cup down and leaned forward. "You are offering your own life?" V'Lar inclined her head again.

"Mine, and the other Ministers, and our Sub-Ministers, and as many other members of the government as you consider necessary. Please, Empress. Remember that the few Vulcans who have become involved in this madness entered into it very recently. Given their small numbers and short time, surely they cannot have inflicted such great harm that all of our lives will not provide adequate punishment?"

Sato pressed her eyelids together and rubbed them in deep thought. "I must consider this. I acknowledge that I did not expect this, V'Lar. Do you stand ready to comply with the remaining terms, or are you going to try to negotiate your way out of them as well?"

"We are prepared to suffer the consequences, for the actions of those few members of our society who have betrayed us all," she said with stiff dignity. Sato shook her head.

"Have your Council of Ministers ready to meet me upon my arrival," she suddenly said. She gestured to Baird to cut the connection and the screen went black. Hoshi hit a button on the arm of her chair and said, "Empress Sato to engineering. Prepare for maximum warp. We are going to Vulcan."

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Payment**

By Blackn'blue

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

Note: Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

* * *

T'Pol sat on the floor with her back against the end of Tucker's desk. The ankle chain she wore was easily long enough to reach either of the chairs, but she preferred to spend her time in meditation position. In the days since they had set out for Vulcan she had spent all day, every day in the same spot. She responded to Tucker's direct commands. Otherwise she ignored the rest of the universe.

Her time had run out. She had failed her people. _Defiant_ was on its way to Vulcan and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She was as helpless as the innocent victims who were about to die because of her failure. She could not even take her own life in atonement. The only method available to her would involve the death trance, and as soon as her life signs began to fail she would be rushed to sickbay and placed on _ Defiant's_ incredible life support equipment. If necessary, they could keep her alive for the rest of her natural span.

So she sat and waited. There was nothing else for her to do.

&

Tucker heard the main doors open and sensed, rather than heard, the hiss of indrawn breaths all over Engineering. He waited a moment, and made a point of raising his head casually from the panel he was inspecting. Travis was strolling languidly across the deck. His two bodyguards flanked him, one pace to each side and two paces back, with phaser rifles ready.

Tucker straightened and saluted carefully. Respectful, but not groveling. "Welcome to Engineering, Fleet Admiral. What can we do for you?"

Travis scanned the area, missing nothing at all. His eyes gave nothing, took in everything. From the location of each crewman, to the position of each container, to the stance of every guard, Tucker was sure that the entire room was imprinted on his brain in full color and three dimensions with the first glance. The royal consort swung his eyes back and Tucker had to grab hard at his control. He tightly demanded his body to stand still, no flinching allowed.

"We are approaching Eridani, Commander," Travis said smoothly. "Her Imperial Majesty commands that _Defiant_ be made ready for battle at a moment's notice."

Tucker's face tightened. "She is already prepared, Sir," he said grimly. "All systems read nominal. Phasers have been checked and double checked with every diagnostic we have. Torpedoes have been prepared and loaded. Shields are at optimum. Hull plating is at optimum. Both warp and impulse engines are operating within standard tolerances according to all readouts."

Travis smiled faintly. "What about the personnel, Commander? Is the Engineering staff prepared for battle as well?" His eyes narrowed.

Tucker felt his scalp tighten even more. "Of course, Sir. We are Starfleet. We are always ready." He mouthed the moth-eaten propaganda glibly as he tried to figure out what Travis was after. His thoughts were interrupted when Travis slammed him backward against the console and jabbed a dagger under his chin.

Tucker grabbed for the wrist of the hand holding the dagger, and with his other hand snatched at Travis's throat. The MACO easily intercepted his attempt and pinned his arm. Leaving the two of them frozen in time, with Tucker bent backward over the console. Two short, sharp bursts of sound snapped out - followed by silence. Travis's eyes widened, then narrowed to slits.

"Don't even think about mocking me, Tucker," he whispered. Strangely, there was no sign of anger in his voice.

Evenly, Tucker told him, "I wasn't mocking you, Sir. We are ready." Blue eyes met brown and held them for a long interval. Slowly and carefully, Travis backed up and disengaged to put some distance between himself and Tucker. Only then did the two of them notice the corpses of the two bodyguards. Both were missing the tops of their respective skulls, having been neatly sliced off with welding lasers.

Travis stared at the bodies. Then he nodded slowly and looked back up at Tucker. "Don't ever stop being ready." Then he turned and stalked out. When the doors shut behind him, Tucker felt his knees start to buckle. He grabbed the console behind him and held on for dear life.

&

T'Pol stood rigid with shock. This was impossible. This could not be true. What had happened in front of her eyes defied everything that she positively knew to be proven fact about Humans.

She looked at her mate. She could feel his own shock and relief through the bond. He was surprised also. But not as much as she was. The emotions pouring through their connection were a tangled mass of chaotic confusion. But she could identify joy, and relief, and gratitude. Also fear, and anger, and worry. T'Pol closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind.

It didn't help. When she closed her eyes the memory of those laser shots returned. Hess, she understood. Having observed their interactions, T'Pol had drawn the conclusion that Hess desired to take Tucker for her own mate. From the Human's viewpoint, it would be a logical and advantageous move. Of course, it would require killing T'Pol. But Hess would consider that a minor impediment.

So it was not incredible that Hess would be willing to attack the Imperial consort's bodyguard on Tucker's behalf. But why would Crewman Meyer be willing to do so? He was a recent transfer, only having been transported over from _Farragut_ one day into their voyage to Vulcan. What possible motivation would he have for risking his life, and his family's lives, in defense of Commander Tucker?

There was something happening here. Not just on this ship, but here in Engineering. Her mate was involved in planning something much larger than personal advancement. She had to find out what was happening. It might make all the difference to her people. What could she possibly do to penetrate his defenses?

&

Tucker pushed off and stood up on wobbly legs. Hess and Rostov came over with carefully blank looks. "Boss," Rostov asked casually, "What do you want done with the meat?" He rolled his eyes at Hess, then jerked a thumb at the bodies. Tucker glanced down.

"Sack 'em and ship 'em to sickbay," he ordered. "Let them figure out what to do with the scraps." Rostov nodded with a twisted mouth and turned to shout a command. Tucker looked at Hess and found her fighting back tears. He sighed.

"That was the stupidest thing you ever did in your life, Anna," he scolded her in a soft whisper. "What were you thinking?"

Hess bit her lip and swallowed. "Th- They were moving in on you." She sniffled and rubbed her nose on her sleeve, discreetly. "Both of them started closing in when Mayweather jumped you." She hesitated, then burst out in suppressed fury, _"I couldn't just stand there."_

Tucker closed his eyes. "Kid. If Travis had wanted me dead, I would have died about 0.5 seconds after he put his hand on that knife. They wouldn't have dared to scratch me without his express order. They were just doing their job."

"I'm sorry," she told him forlornly, hanging her head. Tucker didn't know whether to laugh, or cry, or spank her. So he picked her up in a bear hug and squeezed the breath out of her.

"Sorry?" He laughed. "For being willing to back me up come hell or high water? I guess I will have to forgive you for that." He grinned and saw the light come back into her eyes. "Thanks, Anna. I owe you big time. I won't forget this."

"Meyers was in on it too," she told him. "You remember, Drew's cousin." Tucker nodded.

"Put him on day shift," he said. "Accelerated training schedule." Hess smiled knowingly.

"Already gave the orders, Commander." Tucker snorted.

"I don't know why I even bothering showing up for work. You and Rostov run the place. I just sit around and look pretty."

&

"Any sign of enemy ships, Arvon?" Sato demanded.

"No, Ma'am," the science officer responded. "There are three unarmed cargo ships in orbit. No life signs on any of them. None of the orbital stations are currently showing power consumption of any kind. Their spacedock is also shut down cold. The entire area around Vulcan is clear of any activity of any kind."

"Maintain battle readiness," Sato ordered. "Helm, assume geosynchronous orbit over the city of Shi'Kahr. Communications, get me the Vulcan High Command."

The screen cleared almost immediately to reveal Chief Minister V'Lar. The old woman looked serenely tired. "Imperial Majesty," she inclined her head. "The High Command awaits your judgment."

Sato sat back in the central chair and pinched her lower lip thoughtfully. She shook her head faintly. The turbolift doors hissed behind her left shoulder, and a quick glance revealed that Travis had finally returned. She would give him a tongue lashing for his tardiness later. How long could it possibly take to run down to Engineering and back?

Hoshi abruptly said, "V'Lar. Gather yourself and the five senior members of the High Command. Report to your meeting chamber and stand in the center to await transport to _Defiant_. You will be tried and sentenced aboard my flagship."

"Understood," V'Lar replied. "We will comply."

Sato said, "Good. I will expect you to be ready within ten minutes. Until then." She looked at the Communications officer and gestured for her to kill the connection.

"Where were you?" she demanded furiously of Travis, in a voice that was barely short of shrill. Travis shrugged, unimpressed.

"Ordering funereal arrangements for my bodyguards," he told her. Sato froze in her seat.

"What happened?" she asked, subdued. He looked at her.

"Later," he told her. She subsided and nodded. Travis went on, "Where do you want our guests to be deposited?"

"The shuttlecraft hanger," she replied. "Easy to clean out." He nodded. Sato went on, "Have Reed, Tucker, and his doggie report there right away. We will give the Vulcans fifteen minutes to stew and then stroll down to greet them."

"Sounds good," Travis nodded approvingly.

&

Reed was fidgeting. Tucker saw T'Pol shoot him frequent hooded glances, like she expected him to strike out at random sooner or later. She might be right at that. Malcolm Reed wasn't anything near stable at the best of times. During periods like this, when waiting for his prey to arrive, he started resembling a starving pit bulldog.

Tucker casually brushed his hand over the lump at his side. The tiny phaser from Defiant's armory was still in place. Naturally. What did he think, was it going to stand up and march away? Fascinating, the way they had designed these weapons in modular form. A basic phaser the size of a pack of cards, which could be inserted into a pistol bracket, which could in turn be inserted into a rifle bracket. With each increment providing a corresponding increase in power and range.

According to the classified files that he had eventually managed to hack open, the adjustments he had made should make it invisible to even this ship's internal sensors. That was assuming that no one else had found the same classified files.

As soon as he realized what they were, Tucker had downloaded them onto separate data cartridges and wiped the main computer clean. Even if someone else had seen them, it was a fair bet that not even Sato could have broken Defiant's master control codes.

Tucker was only able to manage it because the master control codes were physically embedded in the central computer's memory core. Even then, he had discovered them by pure chance. With the master codes, he had been able to access the main algorithms for the central computer's most secure systems, including all command access codes and classified files all the way up to Most Secret – Command Level Eyes Only. There was some illuminating stuff in there too.

Tucker sighed in exasperation, drawing looks from both of the other two. Fortunately, they were too involved in their own thoughts to spend any energy analyzing his state of mind.

_Hoshi must like it in here,_ he mused, looking around the hanger. _Maybe because it is so big. Like a vast cathedral or something. It suits her grand fantasies about being a great, all powerful empress._

Tucker had fought to keep a straight face when Sato made her grandiose pronouncement at the confirmation ceremony. Made herself empress? Not hardly. Travis had made her empress. Travis had gotten her the poison that she fed to Archer. When she strolled out onto the bridge afterward and announced that she had taken command of _Defiant_, it was only dread of her consort's rattlesnake-quick reflexes that kept every phase pistol in its holster. She might pretend that she had Reed under control, but only fear of Travis held him back from her throat. Without Travis, Hoshi would not be able to survive two days.

Tucker wondered if she had sense enough to realize it. For the sake of the empire, he sincerely hoped so. At least until he had time to finish his work. He did _NOT_ want to be forced into taking command of _Defiant_ himself. That would almost require him to proclaim himself emperor, and Tucker did not want the throne. He had plans, important plans. But ruling the Terran empire was not part of them. Not if he could avoid it.

Now there was this crap with Vulcan to handle. He looked at T'Pol, wondering what she was thinking. He did his best to block what was coming through the bond, but what did make it through was sickening. She honestly wanted to die, he could tell that much.

The intercom activated. _"Stand by for beam in."_

The guards readied their weapons and waited. Tucker settled the controller for T'Pol's collar in his left hand and rested his right hand near his concealed phaser. He flicked a glance at Reed and felt contempt. The man was almost drooling with anticipation. He was the one that should be on a collar. And a leash.

A building whine announced the formation of six columns of light. The Vulcans remained motionless, looking around carefully. Each registered acknowledgment of T'Pol's presence, and her chained condition. Tucker met their assessing looks with bland indifference. T'Pol radiated shame, and kept her eyes on the floor. Reed couldn't stop smiling.

&

Hoshi led the way into the turbolift with a stiff back. The two guards flanking the doors stiffened and kept their faces immobile. Her imperial majesty was obviously not in a good mood. Even if she were not there, neither of them would have dared to offer Travis a glance of sympathy. He would have cut them down in a heartbeat for such a breach of discipline. But they felt it, he could see it in their eyes. A flicker of cold amusement crossed his features.

Travis barely got inside before Hoshi snapped, "Hanger deck." The car started moving and Hoshi started ranting. She pushed her way up Travis and shouted, "How dare you make me look foolish on the bridge! You should have reported in as soon as something happened! What do you mean sauntering in like that and casually announcing that your bodyguards were dead? You caught me by surprise! The empress is _Never_ caught by surprise!" She stopped to catch her breath and gather her forces for a new assault. So Travis grabbed her and kissed her. She tried to knee him in the belly and, when that failed, made a sincere effort to rip both of his ears off. He let her go, laughing.

"That is the sweetest thing you have ever said to me, Darling," he told her sardonically. "I love you too. It warms my heart to know you worry about me."

Hoshi clenched both fists and let out a screech. Then she snarled, "All stop!" The turbolift jerked to a halt. She glared at Travis with glittering eyes. "I meant what I said. Don't _EVER_ do something like that again. Do you understand me?"

"Of course, Majesty," Travis bowed. "I understand and obey." He laughed almost inaudibly. "Resume." The turbolift started moving again. Hoshi fumed in silence for a few moments until the reached the hanger deck.

The doors parted to reveal a line of MACOs covering both bulkheads. The two of them stepped out and their honor guard fell in before and behind. "Now, are you going to tell me what happened or not?" Hoshi demanded.

Travis shrugged. "My bodyguards got into a dispute about the limits of authority with a couple of Tucker's people," he explained.

"What?!" Hoshi stopped instantly. She stared at him furiously. "Is Tucker-" He held up a hand to stop her.

"Tucker didn't cause it," Travis assured her calmly. "I am sure he is raking his people over the coals right now. It was my people's fault, and they paid the price for their own stupidity." He looked around at their escort and raised his voice. His words were still addressed to Hoshi, but they were obviously meant to be heard by everyone present. "The one thing I will not tolerate from my people is stupidity. My guards got cocky and turned their backs on those technicians. They didn't think they had the guts to touch them. Now they are in body bags waiting to be launched out a torpedo tube." He looked back down at Hoshi and motioned for them to continue.

Hoshi wore a look of intense thought. "How did Tucker react?' She asked, recovering her aplomb.

"He was upset," Travis smiled. "He is far from stupid, unlike my guards. We were talking about making sure _Defiant_ was battle ready when we heard two welding lasers go off. By the time we turned around, the guards were down and his techs had faded into the woodwork." He laughed. "I thought Tucker was going to start flattening every tech in Engineering with his bare hands."

"I will expect to see two bodies in payment for your guards," Hoshi said grimly.

Travis stopped and looked at her. "No." Her face flashed crimson and her lips thinned across her teeth. Quick glances in both directions at the guards revealed her opinion of discussing this in front of the guards. Travis ignored her expression. "We can't spare any people from Engineering right now. Tucker is shorthanded as it is. And I told you, my people were at fault."

Hoshi hissed her rage. "Need I remind you who is the empress here?"

Travis took her face between his hands. Firmly. _VERY _ firmly. "I remember, _Your Imperial Majesty," _ he told her emotionlessly, with no more expression in his eyes than a snake. "How much do you remember?"

Hoshi flinched. Just a little, and with her face concealed in his big hands, only Travis was aware if it. But they both knew exactly what he was talking about. With everyone on the ship bowing to her, it was easy to get carried away. Travis didn't hold it against her, he was a realist. But it was still important to make sure that she didn't start believing her own propaganda.

Hoshi swallowed and reached up to touch his hands. She dissembled her nervousness and started caressing the backs of his hands with her palms. "All right then, if you are so determined about it," she crooned with a coy smile. "They were your guards after all."

"Thank you, Majesty," Travis told her graciously. He offered her his arm and they proceeded along the corridor toward the shuttlecraft bay.

&

The doors whisked open a full two minutes before Tucker had estimated they would. _"Travis must have gotten tired of waiting,"_ he thought sardonically. The royal couple sauntered arrogantly, arm in arm, down along the carpeted walkway toward the waiting prisoners. Tucker felt rage begin to boil up in T'Pol and touched the pain lever. Just a twitch, to remind her. She looked at him and settled back into a kneeling position. But her glower remained.

V'Lar stepped forward one pace and bowed. "Empress. We have come, as ordered."

Hoshi looked them over. None of them were under a hundred and forty, and some were pushing two hundred. She sneered. "Six worn out old bags of bones. Six walking corpses to pay for the lives of hundreds of young Starfleet warriors, with their entire lives ahead of them."

V'Lar's face changed. She actually looked saddened. "We are but the first, Empress. It is true that nothing can truly repay the loss of such promise. But all we can offer is what we have." She spread out her hands.

Hoshi gave a ladylike snort and crossed her arms. She raised one hand and started rubbing a single forefinger along her cheek thoughtfully. "Reed, come up here. You too Tucker, and bring your little pet."

Reed's teeth shone as he marched smartly forward to stand at attention beside the royal couple. His eyes glittered hatefully. The Vulcans returned his look calmly, but none of them missed his raking stare. He measured each of them individually, as if estimating their endurance time in the booth.

Tucker turned his head and said, "Up." T'Pol tightened her muscles and considered disobeying. But it would serve no purpose now. If she failed to stand and walk, she would be dragged. And the other Vulcans would be punished for her insolence. She rose to her feet in stony silence and preceded her mate to the designated spot.

Hoshi smiled quite pleasantly. "Now, isn't this a pleasant reunion all around? V'Lar, I believe you are acquainted with T'Pol? You knew her mother, did you not?"

T'Pol sent her eyes roving across the upper support struts while V'Lar inspected her. She heard the old woman say, gravely, "I did. I grieve to see her condition."

"Well, I suppose you might," Hoshi tittered. "But not as much as she does, I am sure. But then, murder is a very serious charge you see."

V'Lar closed her eyes in pain. "Indeed." She opened them again. "Would it be permissible, Imperial Highness, for me to inquire as to who she killed?"

"Why certainly, V'Lar," Hoshi said sweetly. She glanced up at her consort's alertly unperturbed features. "Dear, sweet T'Pol was the ringleader and instigator of the mutiny aboard Enterprise. The one that caused the destruction of Enterprise, and the death of all non-Human members of the crew, as well as more than a third of the Humans." She smiled gently and reached over to twirl a lock of T'Pol's hair. The Vulcan stood rigidly and endured it.

A hiss of breath betrayed V'Lar's shock. Several of the listening members of the High Command bowed their heads. "Can this be true child?" V'Lar's voice held an undeniable emotional tone. "You were a sworn officer of the Empire. How could you have betrayed your oath and your people this way?"

"_The EMPIRE!"_ T'Pol exploded suddenly. "What did I owe the Empire? The Empire killed my family! The Empire took my world and turned it into an armed camp. The Empire steals the best of our young people from each generation and sends them out to be butchered in its endless wars of expansion. The Empire taxes our people into poverty, enslaves our best minds for its own use. The Empire takes and takes and takes!"

V'Lar shook her head. "You are a fool T'Pol. A young and ignorant fool. I realize that you are too young to remember the old days, but have you never read the history books? Or did you simply choose to ignore them?"

"Those days could not have been as bad as the Empire!" T'Pol seethed back, careless now of any consequences. Her Vulcan anger had taken her, and she no longer cared if she lived or died. Or if anyone else did either.

"I remember those days, child," Minister Kuvak said. The old man's wrinkled face looked tired beyond words. "I remember them far too well. Sometimes, they still disturb my sleep, no matter how deeply I meditate." He looked her in the eye. "Whatever can be said of the Empire, and I grant that the Terran Empire is deeply flawed, it is still much preferable to the chaos that ruled this quadrant in the generations before it came to be."

The Humans watched and listened with interest. Reed started to step forward and Hoshi held up her hand sharply, stopping him on a pin. She shook her head and gave each of the Humans a direct look.

V'Lar spoke again. "You railed against the lives lost in the Empire's wars. Did you think to count the lives lost in our last war against Andoria? Or our war against the Orion Syndicate? Or our war against the Romulans? Or our war against the Klingons? Or our war against the Nausicans? Or our war against the Tellarites? Did you count the lives lost to piracy, T'Pol?," she asked quietly.

"There was a time," V'Lar continued, "That a cargo ship could not travel anywhere in this quadrant unless it was heavily armed, and heavily escorted. Nausican and Orion pirates plundered with impunity, killed and enslaved at will. No one will ever know how many of our people ended their lives toiling in a Nausican dilithium mine, or chained down in an Orion brothel." T'Pol drew back horror. "You see?," V'Lar told her. "After the Empire rose, for a brief time an unarmed ship could travel from the Syndicate all the way to Andoria and back again in perfect safety. True, the Empire patrols demanded their tolls. But nothing they demanded came close to the depredations of the pirates."

V'Lar turned her head away and sighed. "And now, because of you and foolish young people like you, the Empire is tied down fighting this insurrection. Once again pirates are roaming at will along the outer fringes of the Empire. Once again, slaves are being taken. Once again, young men and women are screaming as they watch their children being killed, because they are too small to be economically useful."

T'Pol choked. She started shivering. "No." She shook her head continually. She could not stop.

"I see that they are making an example of you," V'Lar said sadly. "Do you know what your fate is planned to be?"

"Unfortunately," Hoshi broke in pensively, "we are not making an example of her. We can't. It's most vexing, really."

V'Lar blinked several times and looked mightily puzzled. "Empress? I... do not understand..."

Hoshi shrugged and smiled nastily. "Well, I really would prefer not to lose my Chief Engineer you see. And him being her bonded mate and all, if I kill her he will die. So I was reluctantly forced to let her live."

Six heads snapped around as if mounted on a single swivel to stare at Tucker. He grimaced and looked at Hoshi, who hid her mouth behind her hand. "Oh, it caught us by surprise too," she told them. "Commander Tucker was the most astonished of us all when he found out about it. Especially since T'Pol did her best to get him killed in the mutiny."

Astonished silence suddenly became something else. The Vulcans stopped looking at Tucker and turned to look at T'Pol. She shrank down, trembling. Then she collapsed on the floor, whimpering.

Tucker grabbed his forehead and fell to his knees, gasping. _"Holy shit! Stop!"_ He dimly heard a phaser go off and the pressure disappeared.

Voices were fading in and out. "We had no idea that it would affect him, Empress," a voice insisted. "No doubt it is due to his lack of natural shields. We did nothing that would harm him, however. He will recover fully in a few minutes."

"He had better," Hoshi's voice warned. "Or it will be several days before I permit you to die."

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**Payment Part 10 **

By Blackn'blue

Disclaimer: I don'own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

Note: Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

* * *

Chapter 10:

Tucker blinked. Colors sharpened and focused. A medical tech was looking anxiously down at him. The young woman, barely old enough to be out of school, clutched her scanner white knuckled and repeatedly ran it over him. She was plainly terrified.

She had plenty of reason to be, Tucker reflected. Suddenly called to the presence of the Empress and instructed to heal a command officer. A command officer that had been struck down by some mysterious malady caused by the Vulcans, using some technique that nobody had ever heard of?

But the Empire gave short shrift to excuses for failure. Either Tucker recovered or she would never see sickbay again. Thus, her pale complexion and shaking hands.

She saw his eyes opening and almost collapsed in relief. "How do you feel, Sir?" she asked him, silently begging him with her expression to be all right.

"Head hurts," he told her shortly. "Colors too bright. Feel a little dizzy. Otherwise, ok."

The tech's face cleared and she grabbed a hypo. "Here, Sir." The hypo hissed. "That will help the pain. Just lie still for a few minutes and the dizziness should wear off. Close your eyes briefly whenever the brightness starts to bother you. They will re-adjust quickly. Your scans read normal now. As far as I can tell, whatever the Vulcan's did to you acted almost like a phase stun."

"Feels like one too," he admitted. Ignoring her instructions, he sat up to take stock of the situation. Then he almost went back down again. Bracing himself on both arms, Tucker half turned to watch the drama that Hoshi was putting on.

"_She never stops,"_ he sighed.

Her Imperial Majesty was pacing back and forth in front of the Vulcan prisoners in high dudgeon, waving her arms for effect and letting her penetrating voice echo throughout the chamber.

"You didn't know! How convenient! You six are probably the most experienced melders on Vulcan, and yet you claim that you had _no idea_ that attacking one member of a bonded pair would cause an effect in the other member. Why do I have difficulty believing this? Travis, my love, can you help me understand why I have difficulty believing this?"

Travis chuckled softly and shook his head. His eyes glittered with mocking amusement, but he humored her. "Perhaps, because we knew that it would have an effect and we are not even telepaths?"

"Brilliant!" She whirled to face the five Vulcans that were still standing stiffly before her. V'Lar's unconscious form was stretched out on the deck where she had fallen when Travis shot her, unattended and, for the moment, ignored. "You see now why I chose Fleet Admiral Travis Mayweather for my consort? His keen insight is incredibly valuable to me in the most difficult circumstances." Her heavy handed sarcasm was starting to weigh on the Vulcan's patience, Tucker could see it clearly.

So could Colonel Reed. The Empire's newly promoted Chief Inquisitor stepped forward, stopping only a fraction of a pace behind Travis. His eyes were almost glassy, like a man on drugs. The vacant stare that he fixed on the six prisoners would have put any Human into a state of gut churning fear. The Vulcans gave no outward clue to their reaction, of course. But Tucker doubted they were as indifferent as they presented themselves.

Reed ignored T'Pol, who was curled into an immobile ball at his feet. Tucker gingerly tested the feelings he was getting through the bond and blinked in confusion. Nothing was coming through. He concentrated and realized that was wrong. He could still feel the connection clearly enough. But T'Pol was sending nothing. She was either unconscious, or in a state of mind where she wasn't reacting to any stimuli.

Time to defuse this, before Hoshi really flew off the handle. When that woman got enough pressure built up she was capable of absolutely anything at all. Tucker wasn't worried about the Vulcan bureaucrats, but he winced to consider the potential consequences to innocent bystanders. And Travis wouldn't do anything more than prevent her from sabotaging herself or him. The rest of the universe was on its own as far as he was concerned.

Standing up was about equal to having a tooth pulled without anesthetic in terms of pleasure (an experience that Tucker had been unfortunate enough to endure once). But as soon as he was on his feet the rocking deck stabilized pretty quickly.

"Well, Commander," Hoshi snapped. "I see you have finally chosen to rejoin us." She glowered at Tucker, in no mood to cut anyone any slack for any reason whatsoever. "Get over here."

"Yes, Ma'am," Tucker replied meekly. He shuffled across the deck wearing his humble look. It had always worked on Archer, and usually on Forrest. From the corner of his eye he saw Travis stifling a smile. Tucker kept his mental fingers crossed as he stopped next to Reed, with T'Pol on the floor between them.

But no such luck. "Don't bother, Fool," Sato was steaming. "If you think I am going to fall for that 'oh don't pay any attention to me - I am a harmless nobody' act that you always used on _Enterprise,_ think again. I am not Archer." She stomped over and got into his face. "Anyone who can intimidate his people to the point where they are willing to fight the Empress's own personal guardsmen is _far_ from harmless," she hissed.

Tucker flinched openly and let her see it. Hoshi drew back, satisfied for the moment. "You can thank Travis that I didn't take two of your technicians in payment for his bodyguards, and one of your hands for interest on the debt. He pleaded your case most eloquently." She lunged back. "But if _anything like that ever happens again,_ Tucker, I will personally supervise your punishment. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Ma'am," He knelt and bowed low. "I am deeply sorry, Ma'am. It will never happen again, Ma'am. I swear it."

He looked up to see Hoshi's face starting to lose its crimson flush. Reed was staring down at Tucker in disbelief, glancing from him to Hoshi, then to Travis and back to Tucker as if he could not believe his ears. A swift survey of the hanger told him that every guard had also heard, and the story would be all over the ship within an hour, meaning all the political shifts and adjustments that it would cause. Tucker suppressed a groan. The rumors alone that this would start were going to give him headaches for weeks, if not months. He really should spank Hess for this one.

Kneeling beside her gave Tucker an unusually close view of T'Pol's face. Her color was nearly white. Her eyes were barely cracked open and her breath was so shallow as to be almost undetectable. While Hoshi's breathing slowed down, Tucker's hand moved by sheer reflex before he had time to think and touched T'Pol's cheek. In an instant he realized what he had done and yanked it back like he had been burned. He skidded backward like a man who had touched a live conduit.

Sato snorted in contempt. "Did she bite you?"

"No, Ma'am," Tucker swallowed and looked up. "I think she is still out of it." He stood up and waited for instructions. Now was definitely not the time for innovation. Tucker saw the controller on the floor nearby and left it where it was for the moment.

Reminded of her other targets, Hoshi swirled and stalked back toward the prisoners. "Now that he is finally awake, explain to Commander Tucker how you had no idea that attacking his bonded mate would also affect him," she sneered. "Go ahead. I think I will permit him to select the specific punishment you receive for this offense. Over and above your punishment for treason."

Minister Syrann stepped forward a pace. "Commander Tucker, you have been most grievously wronged." The man looked to be a weather beaten late middle age. His expression was as haggard as any Vulcan's that Tucker had seen. But he still held himself with that stiff Vulcan dignity that was either a racial characteristic, or was pounded into every one of them with their first toddling steps. "I hope that you will believe that we had no intention of compounding that wrong. Our intent was to extract information from T'Pol, nothing more. She resisted most strenuously, and we found it necessary to use significantly greater force than is generally required. Still, it should not have caused this reaction."

"I suspect the answer is straightforward," Minister Kuvak inserted. "Commander Tucker, it is unusual in the extreme for a Vulcan to mate with someone of another species. It was, until now, unheard of for a Vulcan to mate with someone of a non-telepathic species. The fault is, of course, entirely our own. It simply did not occur to us that since Humans are not naturally telepathic, you do not possess the instinctive defenses that all telepathic races develop. Thus, when we penetrated T'Pol's mind and the conflict between we and she developed, you had no defense against the backlash."

Syrann looked even more unhappy. "This seems most logical. Indeed, almost self-evident now that Minister Kuvak has pointed it out."

"Can you show me how to defend myself against her?" Tucker broke in, trying hard not to sound eager. Sato snickered at him.

"What's wrong, Trip?" she gibed. "Getting tired of keeping your little puppy muzzled all the time?"

"Against... her?" Kuvak looked puzzled. "I do not understand, Commander. Telepathic contact between bonded mates is of course instinctive for Vulcans. But it can be minimized if you find it distressing. Perhaps if you discussed the matter with T'Pol-"

"No," Tucker shook his head. "I want to know how to defend myself if she attacks me again."

Kuvak's knees actually weakened for an instance, something none of the assembled Humans had ever seen before. Syrann closed his eyes and said in a hoarse whisper, full of pain, "Do you actually mean that T'Pol attacked you telepathically?"

"That's what I call it," Tucker told them belligerently. "You tell me." He gave them a brief summary of how T'Pol had melded with him and used implanted commands to force him to sabotage _Enterprise_, then let him take the blame and sent him into the agony booth while she walked away.

Minister T'Sara, one of the most ancient members, who had been holding back and keeping quiet, stepped forward. "Imperial Majesty? May I speak?"

Sato stood with her arms crossed, pulling on her lower lip and listening closely. Her eyes kept switching back and forth. "I must say, this is the most entertaining display I have witnessed since Arvon built my mountain. By all means, chatter away."

"Majesty," T'Sara went on impassively, "we came here to offer our lives in payment for the crimes of our young ones. But it is plain that this young one," she inclined her head in T'Ppol's direction, "has committed crimes that are perhaps even worse. Before we are put to death, will you grant us the privilege of performing one last act of judgment in our capacity as the ruling council of Vulcan?"

Sato gaped. Then a smile like sunshine broke over her face. With a voice as gentle as spring rain she said, "By all means, Minister. Please continue with your work. I would not dream of interfering."

T'Sara knelt beside V'Lar and placed her hands on each side of her head. A few seconds of concentration passed. V'Lar gave a loud gasp and arched her back, T'Sara shifted her grip with one hand to grab V'Lar at some point on her neck, Tucker could not see exactly where. T'Sara held pressure for a count of five, then V'Lar reached up to grab her wrist. "That will be sufficient. Your assistance is appreciated."

Several other members helped V'Lar to stand, while Kuvak whispered rapidly into her ear. Her expression quickly came to match the rest of them, except that her control looked on the verge of breaking. Tucker supposed none of the others had known T'Pol's family. The old woman moved forward stiffly and pointed at T'Pol. T'Sara and Syrann promptly moved forward, stopping just before reaching her and looking hesitant.

"Back up, Gentlemen," Sato ordered briskly. "Give these public servants the room they require to do their duty."

T'Sara knelt beside T'Pol and waited. Syrann turned to Tucker and explained. "We are about to revive her. With your permission as her mate, in order to prevent her from lashing out and potentially injuring you again, I am going to meld with T'Pol and place restraints upon her. She will be conscious and able to respond, but unable to initiate any telepathic activity on her own."

Tucker's eyes narrowed. "Will this be permanent?" Then wondered why he cared.

"No," T'Sara answered. "It can be removed at any time. Or if you prefer, we can leave it in place and allow it to wear off naturally over the course of the next several hours. There will be no permanent damage."

"Do it then," Tucker told them. He muttered out of the corner of his mouth to the medical technician, "Keep that hypo handy, kid."

The two elders knelt beside T'Pol, one at each shoulder. Each placed one hand on T'Pol's temples and one hand on the other's temple. Hoshi watched avidly.

Tucker swallowed and couldn't decide which way to direct his eyes. Something was buzzing and burning at the back of his head. Not really pain, but far from comfortable. He watched Reed's eyes jump from T'Pol to him to the Vulcans. Tucker locked his best poker face into position and held it while T'Pol writhed and gasped.

T'Sara jerked her hands away. Syrann brought his suddenly free hand around in a smooth curve and fastened it onto T'Pol's other temple. He leaned closer, murmuring something inaudible. The younger woman's back arched. Her teeth bared and she screeched. Tucker clenched his eyes shut. Just for a second it felt like a hot spike was driving between his eyes. Then the feeling was gone. When he looked again. Syrann was standing next to T'Sara. T'Pol was alert but still on the floor.

Tucker caught Reed glancing speculatively at the collar control pad, and decided to scoop it up before the fool did anything rash. Beyond doubt, her Imperial Majesty would strongly disapprove of a duel between two Terrans while she was in the middle of passing judgment on some alien dignitaries. While he grabbed the controller T'Sara and Syrann turned to rejoin their comrades.

"Up." He gestured and stepped back, holding the controller carefully in view. T'Pol gave him a cold look, shot Reed a glance of disdain, and rolled to her feet. V'Lar looked at Sato, who waved her to continue.

{T'Pol, daughter of T'Les, of Clan Sh'hiran'lin'iijyliunh'rei'iy'iukn'hy'wen'lhia'ehrm'n.} V'Lar intoned in sonorous High Vulcan. {Step forth and be judged.}

T'Pol went rigid. A blast of freezing terror shot through the bond and almost knocked Tucker back down again. Reed's eyes started glittering with pleasure as faint quivers swept over T'Pol's skin. She took a tiny step forward like a robot, followed by another one a second later. Pinned by every eye in the hanger, the slim figure moved with stiff reluctance until she stood before V'Lar, who was standing front and center before the assembled ranks of the Council.

"Do this in English," Hoshi ordered, smiling. "I want to hear this."

"T'Pol." The old woman sounded exhausted. She switched back to English, as commanded. "Thou hast been accused, examined and judged. Thine own words and memories have condemned thee. Thou hast bonded another without his knowledge or consent, without even telling him that a bond had been formed. Thou hast used and abused thine own bonded mate in a manner most grievously foul, deliberately subjecting him to pain and injustice in thy place and then gloating of thy crime to his very face. But worst of all, thou hast deliberately conspired to accomplish the death of thine own bonded mate. Thy guilt is manifest. What hast thou to say for thyself?"

T'Pol squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head violently. Tucker heard her voice come out in a weak croak. "I did what I did for my people." It sounded like she was mindlessly repeating a mantra.

V'Lar looked away and her throat worked. Minister Syrann stepped forward wrathfully to take over. "For thy people? What thou has done is a denial of everything that it means to be Vulcan! Thou has shamed us all!"

"I could not help it!" T'Pol burst out. "I was dying! I had no way of knowing that a bond would form!" She stopped and fought for control. "He did not hesitate to accept what I offered him," she turned and looked aggressively at Tucker. "He took me to his bed without reluctance."

Sato snickered and covered her mouth. Her eyes danced at Tucker. Travis quirked one corner of his mouth but otherwise did not react.

"Didst thou warn him that there was a possibility of a bond?" V'Lar rasped out. T'Pol fell silent and looked down. "Answer!" She demanded loudly. The old woman's angry voice echoed throughout the hanger, causing the watching Humans to start.

"No," T'Pol acknowledged miserably. "But I never thought that it would happen."

"But it did happen," Syrann pursued relentlessly. "And when it happened, didst thou inform him of this?" He waited. Finally T'Pol shook her head.

"No."

"Why not?" Syrann hammered at her.

"Because...," she took a shuddering breath. "Because he would have taken advantage of me."

"Because he would have rightfully expected thee to behave in the manner of a bonded mate," Syrann corrected. "Is this not the real truth, T'Pol daughter of T'Les? Thee witheld the truth from thy mate so that thou could evade thy honorable duty? Thou hast witheld from him the loyalty that was his right to expect of thee, is this not the truth?"

"I...," she could not finish. Syrann continued mercilessly.

"And yet even so, did not thy mate continue to display loyalty to thee? Did he not assist thee in whatever manner lay within his power? Did he not, even after thy treachery, conceal thy crime and protect thee from the punishment that was thy just reward for thy crime? And in return for his loyalty, what was his reward from thee? Murder."

She choked and fell to one knee. "I was... I did it for Vulcan. I DID! I wanted to free my people! I wanted to protect our world from this ship! You have not seen the power this ship holds! I did it for all of us..." Her voice trailed into a whisper.

Syrann shook his head and looked back at the Council. T'Sara made a gesture and stepped forward, taking his place. "T'Pol," she said. "Thee claims that thou hast committed these crimes for the sake of thy people, to protect us. But for what dost thou claim to protect us? The physical survival of animals? Dost thou truly fear that the Humans would go so far as to drive our species into extinction?"

T'Pol slowly looked up with a confused expression. "N-no. No. We are too valuable to them for that." She braced herself on her knee and stood up like someone very old. "I did what I did to preserve the Vulcan people. The Vulcan heritage. I wanted to regain our freedom, so that our history and our culture could once again be free to grow and flourish."

"Our culture," T'Sara sighed. "Child. Our culture is nothing without the sacred bond of mates. It is the foundation stone upon which all else is constructed. First there is the mate bond. Then come children, and the family is formed. The children grow and find mates, and the clan is formed. The clan grows and forms alliances, and the tribe is formed. Different tribes make alliances, claim territory, and the nation is born. Nations join and merge, and the planet is one. But _everything_begins with the mate bond. Everything." She looked hard at T'Pol to see if she was getting through.

"Without the mate bond nothing else matters, because nothing else is possible," T'Sara continued. "If the mate bond is not cherished and preserved, then the family splinters. If the family splinters, then the clan is not stable. If the clan is not stable, the tribe is not secure. If the tribe is not secure, the nation is subject to insurrection and invasion. With constant war, the planet will never be united. The mate bond _IS_Vulcan, T'Pol daughter of T'Les. The strength of the mate bond, the loyalty of the mate bond, the absolute sacredness of the mate bond is the _essence_of what it means to be Vulcan. Dost thou begin to understand the depths of they disgrace?"

Tucker found a cold knot in his stomach and realized that his breath was coming faster. The medical tech touched his arm in concern. "Sir?" She still looked scared. "If you would like, I can give you a hypo for stress," she whispered.

He took a deep breath and held it. "That's ok," he reassured her. "But thanks. I'm all right." He backed it up with a smile and returned to watching the show. Once he realized that the source of the stress was coming from the bond he could insulate himself from it. Somewhat.

V'Lar pressed the tips of her fingers together for a moment and closed her eyes. The others fell silent and watched T'Pol, who looked extremely nervous. Finally V'Lar opened her eyes and requested, "Commander Tucker, if you would be so kind, could you please join us here?"

He walked over, curious now. Tucker was strongly aware of Sato's eyes avidly watching every movement of the ongoing drama, as well as Reed's glittering rat gaze. Travis surveyed the situation as he always did, completely relaxed and unimpressed. For a split second Tucker found time to wonder what it would take to get the man excited, then shoved the thought away. He stopped beside T'Pol and looked at the Vulcan elders in front of him.

"I'm here," he said somewhat gruffly. "What do you need?"

V'Lar told him, "By our law it is your decision as to the punishment T'Pol should receive. Unfortunately we cannot inflict the traditional penalty, execution, since this would be unsafe for you. There are alternatives. The first is lifetime solitary imprisonment in the deep caverns beneath Mount Seleya, never again to see light in any form. The second is irrevocable exile from Vulcan and all Vulcan colonies for the rest of her life. Which do you choose?"

T'Pol made a sound that was not appropriate for any sentient creature. Her face twisted and she looked back and forth, searching for an escape. Her terror crackled along the bond like plasma along a warp conduit, flooding Tucker's blood with adrenaline.

Sato gasped. Tucker looked across the room and saw the Empress beaming with undisguised delight. "This is better than the booth ever was," she squealed. Hoshi sauntered over and lifted T'Pol's chin, turning her face back and forth. "Look at her eyes, Malcolm," she told him. "Have you ever seen fear like that in a Vulcan's eyes before?"

"Never," Reed answered weakly. He was shaking almost as badly as T'Pol. The Chief Inquisitor's face was pale and sweating. His breath was coming short and sharp. His pupils were dilated and his eyes were glassy. Sato let her gaze linger on him for a long moment before she turned back to Tucker.

"I think you had better keep her, Commander," Sato purred. "She might find some way to kill herself down in those caves. We wouldn't want that to happen, would we?"

Tucker bowed his head. "As you command, Majesty." Like he would have sentenced even Reed to a lifetime alone in the darkness. Tucker turned back to V'Lar and told her, "Exile."

T'Pol's broke into a tiny whimper. As V'Lar pronounced her sentence it slowly grew into a shrill keening. "T'Pol, Daughter of T'Les of Clan Sh'hiran'lin'iijyliunh'rei'iy'iukn'hy'wen'lhia'ehrm'n, thou art judged guilty of treachery toward thine own mate. The mating bond is the foundation of the family and all of Vulcan society. Therefore, thou hast thereby also betrayed thy family, thy clan, and thy people. Thou art unfit to dwell among us any longer."

"_Noooo!"_ T'Pol's knees buckled and she went to the floor, hands outstretched to grab at V'Lar as a child reached for her mother. The old woman tightened her lips and took a step backward, leaving T'Pol to fall forward onto her elbows. Tucker suddenly felt an almost uncontrollable impulse to vomit. V'Lar drew in a deep breath.

"Thou art stripped of thy Vulcan citizenship. More, thou art barred from residence on Vulcan or any Vulcan colony or station. More, thou are barred from contracting for transport aboard any Vulcan ship. More, thou art-"

T'Pol choked and gagged. V'Lar stopped for a moment, uncertain. Tucker looked at the medical tech and wondered if he should have her check the prisoner. Then she started sobbing. Everyone in the room froze solid.

V'Lar closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. "More. Thou art barred from conducting lawful trade with any Vulcan business. And finally..." She turned her head away, then back again very slowly as if she was forcing herself to meet T'Pol's eyes.

V'Lar might as well have spared herself the pain. T'Pol's head was bowed low and her hair spread out across the floor. Her shoulders shook helplessly with deep wracking sobs. Tucker was weaving on his feet. It took everything he had to stand still. Protective barrier or no barrier, the feedback he was getting through the bond was crippling him. He turned his head to glare resentfully at Sato, expecting to see her gloating.

Instead, Hoshi was staring in shock like the rest of them. If anything she was hit harder than most of the people in the room. As Tucker watched, the empress slowly raised a hand to her mouth and started shaking her head in absolute disbelief, unable to take her eyes away from T'Pol where she knelt on the floor crying her heart out.

"T'Pol." The old woman sounded like she was going to cry herself. "Thy mother assigned to me the duty of standing in her place when she passed on. Her intent was to ensure that someone would be here to secure your interests." V'Lar stopped and struggled for a moment. "But this position also carries with it a heavy weight of additional responsibility. As thy va'prah ko-mehk, I am bound to uphold the honor of thy clan and thy mother's name. And thou-" She stopped and for an instant Tucker was sure that he was going to see another Vulcan break down. "thou hast disgraced thy mother's name and thy clan. Therefore, nevermore shalt thou be known as T'Pol, daughter of T'Las of Clan Sh'hiran'lin'iijyliunh'rei'iy'iukn'hy'wen'lhia'ehrm'n. Henceforth thy name is only T'Pol." V'Lar seemed to fall inward upon herself and turned away, almost staggering as she walked back toward the other members of the council.

T'Pol dropped onto her side and curled into a tight ball, jerking with rib tearing sobs. Tucker waited until his own breathing stabilized before he looked down. She wasn't going anywhere for a while. He doubted that even the collar on full power could get through to her in her current condition.

Sato started toward the two of them, staring, still in a state of shock. She was actually pale. "I can't believe it," Tucker heard her whisper. "She's..." Sato shook her head slowly.

Reed's breathing had settled down. He looked relaxed and completely satiated. Tucker very carefully did not turn his head, but his peripheral vision caught the man's smile. He knew that if he turned around at this moment, Reed would die. Not even Travis would be fast enough to stop him this time. This was not the time or the place. But it would happen soon, he decided. Plan or no plan, he had been patient with Reed long enough. Time to take out the trash.

Speaking of Travis, there he was right behind Hoshi. He looked worried about her. Come to think of it, she was acting a bit odd. Sato stopped on the other side of T'Pol and looked down. The Vulcan woman paid no attention to either of them, or anything else. "You did it," Sato spoke in the tone of a wondering child. She looked at the waiting Vulcan council members. "She's..." she stopped. "You made her..." It seemed that whatever she wanted to say was too inconceivable to put into words.

"We are ready to face our own judgment, Imperial Majesty," V'Lar sounded incredibly tired. Sato looked startled. Then she shook her head impatiently and waved her hand.

"Don't be stupid." She sighed. "I pay my debts, old woman. That is my one unbreakable rule. It is the primary reason that I am still alive and in the position that I hold today. People who serve me can rest assured that I will reward their service, and that the reward will be given generously in proportion to the service rendered. Always." She looked down at T'Pol again. "I have no intention of breaking that rule now. Especially not now," she added softly.

Sato walked over to stand in front of the council members. "You have done what I never could. You have broken her. Not only have you punished her for what she did to Commander Tucker, but you have offered justice for the innocent blood she spilled in her mutiny. Because of this, you have earned some mercy for yourselves. But only a little mercy, and only one time." She turned and pointed at the large chronometer mounted on the wall above the main entrance. "When that chronometer finishes flipping over to the quarter hour, you will have exactly 30 days. And I mean exactly 30 days, I do not mean 30 days and one minute, to recall all of your people and all of your ships to Vulcan."

"You are indeed gracious, Majesty," Kuvak managed to force out, since he seemed to be the only one capable of speech.

"Maybe I am," Sato told him, "but don't push it. Because at 30 days and one minute any Vulcan, or Vulcan ship, that has not taken advantage of this amnesty will be considered at war with the empire and destroyed on sight without mercy. Also, at 30 days and one minute all Vulcan ships that are warp capable and able to mount weapons of any kind will be expected to join the battle fleet and engage the rebellion. That includes firing on any rebel Vulcan ships. If you fail to comply with these terms, Defiant will lead an attack force against Vulcan. The primary targets for our photon torpedoes will be your major cities, followed by your major religious and cultural centers. I will personally turn your Mount Seleya into a crater that goes down into your planet's mantle. Is that clear?"

"Eminently clear, Majesty."

"Good," she smiled sweetly. "I am pleased that we understand each other."

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**Payment**

By Blackn'blue (aka Bluenblack)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

**Note:** Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

* * *

**Chapter 11:**

Tucker eased the new module into place with exquisite precision. _Looks good,_ he considered. _Now, all I need to do is adjust the flow harmonics at this point,_ He blinked sweat out of his eyes and angled the PADD so that the dim light beneath the transporter console could hit it, _and I should be good to go._

He turned back to the circuitry above him and made a series of catwhisker fine tweaks. Then Tucker slid out from under the transporter console and started checking diagnostic readouts. He hit the comm switch at the top of the control panel. "Tucker to Rostov. How are the energy levels on deck four supplemental bypass functions reading down there?"

_"Everything high nominal, Boss. Are you running unusual anything up there?" _

"Not yet," Tucker told him, "but I'm about to make some adjustments. The power is supposed to be killed to this board, but I don't wanna end up like Wilkinson. Just let me know if anything twitches, all right?"

_"Will do, Boss. I'm glued to the monitors down here." _

Tucker's eyes narrowed and he pressed a series of buttons. Then he slid the transport actuators from one end of their tracks all the way to the other end. Nothing happened. Nothing lit up. The board made no sound. None of the six transport platforms in front of him displayed the slightest flicker of activity. He grinned broadly.

"Everything looks good up here," Tucker announced. "Anything show up down there?"

_"All readouts within nominal range. No variance of any kind evident. You worry too much, Boss,"_ Rostov chided.

"Somebody has to do the worrying," Tucker told him seriously. "It's the boss's job. A boss that doesn't worry doesn't stay around long. I'm going to reactivate everything up here and then run an errand. Be back down as soon as I can."

_"We'll be here," _came the cheerful reply.

Tucker swiftly re-set the console to normal status. Then he deactivated the Security bypass, which had been transmitting a serenely empty room to the monitors. Counting under his breath, he made it back into the corridor and down to the turbolift with 19 seconds to spare. "Bridge." Tucker leaned back and waited while the streaming light flowed downward along the wall. When the car stopped he snapped to stiff attention, just in time to present a properly respectful bearing to the opening doors.

Two phaser rifles looked him in the face, followed half a second later by Travis, wearing a mildly curious expression. "Request permission to step aboard the bridge, sir," Tucker told him sharply, looking straight ahead. Mayweather's lips twitched, and he nodded, gesturing with the fingertips of one hand for the door guards to let Tucker pass.

Her Supreme Majesty, Empress Hoshi Sato the First spun lazily around in her command chair and pulled on her lower lip thoughtfully. "What brought this on, Commander? Propriety? Military courtesy? From _you? _Come now, surely you don't expect us to believe that you have suddenly become a good little soldier of the empire."

Tucker stood in front of the lift doors at attention. "Your majesty. I am here to report progress regarding the assignment that you gave me. With respect to using _Defiant's_ technology to upgrade Terran ships and weapons."

Travis stiffened. Hoshi sprang out of her chair like a cat leaping on a particularly succulent mouse. "My ready room. Now. Travis with me." She snapped over her shoulder at the science station, almost as an after thought, "Take the conn."

Hoshi practically shoved Tucker through the door into her ready room. The door had barely whooshed behind them before she was demanding, loudly, "Talk! What have you got? What can you give me?"

Tucker tightened his body and mind. "Majesty. Rather than attempt to duplicate _Defiant_ immediately, which we lack the construction capability to do at this time, I have been concentrating on imitating the progress path that Humans followed in the other universe. Starting where we are now, I studied where they went next and how they got there. I figured that would be the fastest and most effective way to actually get some usable technology into battle."

Hoshi snarled impatiently, "I don't care about the dramatic build up! Just tell me what you can do!"

Tucker hurriedly pushed out, "I can improve every empire ship's deflector shields by at least 50%, and I can upgrade the phase cannon output by 36%. I can do that today. Now. In three months, I can give every empire ship photon torpedoes as good as the ones this ship carries."

Hoshi stared at him for a moment. Then she started to grin. "Do that, Tucker, and in three months you will be a captain."

He bowed his head. "Thank you, majesty. You are most generous."

"You know I always reward good service, Tucker," she told him seriously. "It is my one unbreakable rule. My people know that they always get what they earn. Good or bad, people in my service always receive the payment that they have earned for themselves. If you can truly do what you say, then you will have earned a generous reward and you will receive one. Fail to deliver, and you will receive an equally generous punishment. I am sure you understand me."

"Perfectly, Your Majesty." Tucker kept his voice under control. "I can do this, if I am given a free hand to supervise the retro-fitting aboard the ships without interference from their officers."

Mayweather chuckled and glanced at Hoshi. She gave him a wry smile and nodded. Then she told Tucker, "Travis will ensure that you have no difficulty in that regard. The engineers and command staff on the other ships will jump when you say frog. You can count on that much. What will you need to make this happen?"

"I need a ship to test the modifications on," he told her. "Preferably an NX class, since that was the class they first used these upgrades on in the other universe."

"You mean your counterpart used these upgrades on, don't you," Travis leaned back against the door frame and looked amused.

Tucker's jaw worked for a moment. "Yes, Sir. That is what I mean. My counterpart developed the shield and phase cannon upgrades for use on that universe's _Enterprise_ during their war against the Romulan Empire. Originally it was an emergency improvisation that he was forced to make at a time when they were caught behind enemy lines and outnumbered. Once they had fought their way back to Human space, the modification he developed became standard on all Human warships. I dug through some of his personal notations and managed to figure out how he had done it. I am sure I can duplicate his development path."

"Why do you need to do that?" Hoshi waved impatiently. "What's the point of plodding along behind, imitating his thinking? You already know where it ends up."

"Because, my beloved and glorious majesty," Travis interrupted sardonically, "we lack the production capability to jump directly to the end result. As I believe the Commander just said a moment ago. Before we can build another _Defiant,_ we will have to build a shipyard capable of producing her. Before we can build a shipyard to produce her, we will need to build factories capable of producing the materials to make the tools to make the materials to make the shipyard that will be capable of making another _Defiant."_ He coughed into his hand while Hoshi simmered. Tucker had quietly turned and was gazing in deep fascination at the view out the port. Behind his back he heard her sigh.

"All right, Tucker," Sato's voice seemed less than pleased, but at least not enraged. "It's safe to turn around." Tucker pasted a look of innocent incomprehension on his face and looked at her. She took one look and snorted in amusement. "I can't help it. Every time I see you put on that 'who me?' look I start to break up. It reminds me of all the times you made a fool of Archer with it." She swayed over to him and ran a hand over his collar. "Tell me, Trip. How long is it going to take before I can have another _Defiant?"_

Tucker winced. "I was hoping you wouldn't ask me that today, your majesty."

Hoshi smiled sweetly and asked, "Why ever not, Trip my old friend?"

"Because," he grimaced, "I am not stupid enough to lie to you, and if I tell you the truth it might ruin your good mood."

Hoshi's mouth tightened and she stepped back. "All right. Tell me the truth. No punishment for the truth."

Tucker rubbed his scar absently. "At least ten years, majesty. That's figuring that the war goes well and everything gets settled within a year or so." He didn't look at her. From the sound of her growl, he was just as glad that he had not.

"How much can you give us in one year?" Travis wanted to know.

Tucker looked him in the eye. "In addition to the shield, phase cannon, and torpedo upgrades, in one year I can modify the NX class to cruise at warp 6.5. In a year and a half I can give you designs for a new warp 7 engine. In three years I could give you ground based phaser cannon that would punch _Defiant_ herself out of the sky. In five years I can give you ground based shielding for the imperial palace that would stand up to the combined weapons from three Defiant-class ships simultaneously. I can upgrade your computers by at least three orders of magnitude in terms of both processor speed and memory storage capacity, but I cannot give you a precise time frame for that. It will depend on material development progress."

Hoshi was pulling her lower lip again. "Interesting. How much of this can you do from aboard _Defiant_?"

"I could do all of it from aboard _Defiant_," Tucker told her, "but it would take longer than if I were working in a ground based design lab. Say add 40-50% to the time estimates I just gave you."

She nodded and looked at Travis. He returned a significant glance. "For the present," Hoshi turned back to Tucker, "let's concentrate on the upgrades you mentioned. Do you have a ship in mind?"

"Yes, your majesty. I would like to start with the Ghengis Khan, if that is acceptable to you."

"Why?" Hoshi shot back. She propped herself on the edge of her desk. "Are you paying off a favor, or do you want something from there?"

"Both actually," Tucker told them candidly. "Genghis Khan has some promising young technicians that I want to steal for my staff." Hoshi burst out laughing.

"I wondered if you would be open about it," she told him. "Including Lieutenant Hess's brother, of course."

"Of course," Tucker replied, keeping an eye on Travis and noting his deadpan expression. "I don't have personal knowledge of every youngster coming out of training. But Anna tells me he has some sense, and if he takes after his sister he should at least be trainable."

"And it will give you yet another lever to use on your second," Travis murmured thoughtfully. "She will be grateful of course. And if she ever stops being grateful, he is a powerful hostage. And she is a hostage for his loyalty." He glanced up and smiled. "You never stop calculating, do you?"

"I'm still alive," Tucker said simply.

"While everyone who ever tried to kill you is dead." Travis stood up straight. "I looked into your record. In training, one of the instructors took a particular dislike to you for some reason. He was found two days later in an alley behind a bar. No witnesses."

Hoshi raised her eyebrows. "How fascinating. Please continue." She smiled.

"That instructor was hated by every recruit who ever set foot inside the indoctrination center," Tucker protested.

"Your first posting, one of the senior engineering crewmen apparently decided that you were a threat. I watched the security logs of the fight. Total of 3.2 seconds. Not bad for someone who supposedly has never received any formal training beyond basic induction."

"He was clumsy," Tucker offered weakly. "It wasn't me, it was his own incompetence."

"Using your enemy's weakness against him is the essence of successful tactics," Travis pointed out. "Your entire career is a story of obstacles that magically collapse just before you are about to run into them, and enemies that somehow manage to trip and fall on their own blades. Quite amazing really." Travis quirked a tiny smile that did not get anywhere near his eyes.

"I've been lucky." Tucker was sweating. This conversation was not going well at all.

Mayweather hacked a disgusted cough. "If I believed in luck I would have died before I was half grown." He took a step closer. "Why do you think I insisted on letting things slide after your people killed my bodyguards?"

Tucker's gut tightened. He forced out between suddenly dry lips. "Because you know I am loyal."

This time, the trace of smile made it to Mayweather's eyes. "Loyal? Hardly. But you are one of the most intelligent men I have ever encountered. What really impresses me is the fact that I don't believe you crave power for its own sake. Something else drives you. To you, power is a tool. Power over other people is just something you use, like you use the power of a warp engine, or the power in a welder. I let your people get away with killing my guards for two reasons. First, because they deserved it for stupidity. Now, Tucker. Tell me what the second reason was. And don't say something stupid like loyalty."

"You believe that I can be useful." Tucker held his gaze.

"Give the man a prize," Travis smiled and stepped back. "I don't believe you want the throne. If you did, you would have it by now."

_"That's enough!"_ Hoshi sprang up, flush faced with eyes blazing. Travis turned and looked at her. Tucker could not see his face clearly from where he stood, but Sato froze in position and paled.

"There are only the three of us here," Travis pointed out. "This room is blocked, and I am tired of dancing around. For once, let us speak straight out." He looked back at Tucker. "The chief engineer of a starship holds the life of everyone in his hands. We all know that. It astonishes me that engineers put up with as much crap as they do, considering that with a flip of a switch, anyone from the captain on down could answer with their lives for every insult they give you."

Tucker's blood ran cold. _"He knows. He reasoned it out. Now what?" _His mind raced at warp speed. Rostov and Hess both knew the general plan, but neither were up to speed on all details. Besides, Hess was too emotional to handle it, especially if he was killed this way. She was bound to let her anger take over. Rostov was cold enough to make it work, but he wasn't technically sophisticated enough yet.

"Her majesty once said we are a breed apart," Tucker told him tightly.

"Forrest told her that," Travis corrected him. "Archer was a blind fool, but Forrest was not. At least, not until the end. Yet he let you live and gave you a free hand to run your department however you wished." Travis sized him up carefully while Tucker stood at attention and waited for the other man to make the first move for a weapon.

"A valid point," Hoshi put in. She wasn't about to let this conversation continue any longer without her being in the center of it. "Forrest trusted you. I have often wondered why."

"Captain Forrest knew that engineering is all that really interests me," Tucker told her. Truthfully enough. Travis nodded thoughtfully.

"Whatever it is that you are after, Tucker," Mayweather said slowly, "I don't believe that you desire to be the one on top. Most people would call you a coward for that."

Tucker shrugged and said nothing. Travis continued, "Many people on _Enterprise_ did call you a coward. Most of them are dead now. Either in the mutiny, or through attrition over time. Some of them passed away during unfortunate accidents that, naturally, could not possibly be blamed on you." Tucker maintained his silence.

"As usual, our esteemed engineer has nothing to say for himself," Hoshi needled. She stepped up. "Not this time. Respond to what Travis said, Commander. Why is it that you do not desire power? Why should I not simply dispose of you and eliminate the threat you represent?"

Tucker took a deep breath. "In the historical section of _Defiant's_ database, I learned that the Terran's of the other universe preserved a larger portion of their cultural heritage through the Eugenics war than we did. Especially religious teachings."

"That's fascinating," Hoshi said dryly. "What possible relevance does it have?"

"Do you recall the children's story about Wise King Solomon, and how he cut the little boy in half to teach the two women a lesson?" Tucker asked them.

"Naturally," Hoshi snorted. "Everyone learns that story in nursery school." Travis nodded, looking mildly interested.

"It turns out that King Solomon was a real historical figure," he informed them. "He wrote a series of proverbs, and one of them answers your question, Majesty. King Solomon wrote that it is better to be a live jackal than a dead lion."

Hoshi snorted in surprise, then broke out into real laughter. Travis chuckled softly and shook his head, watching Tucker with a gleam of appreciation in his eyes.

"Get out of here,Trip," Hoshi ordered him. "Go organize your people and gather what you will need for the Ghengis Khan." Tucker nodded and hurried out without venturing any further comments. The remaining pair maintained a thoughtful silence for a few moments, eventually broken by Hoshi asking idly, "Did you ever locate his backup copy of _Defiant's_ database?"

"No," Travis told her, shrugging. "It's not in his quarters of course, although we checked anyway. Most likely its broken up into several places in engineering and thoroughly encrypted. But I don't see any danger. Tucker isn't stupid enough to leak any potentially damaging information."

"You think that the jackal will stay hidden in the shadows then," Hoshi sauntered over to the port and glanced out.

"I get the impression that there was a reason for King Solomon earning the label of "the wise"," Travis told her. "That proverb about the jackal and the lion is deeper than first glance."

"What do you mean?" Hoshi turned in surprise. "Jackal are just scavenging wild dogs, aren't they?"

"True," Mayweather admitted, "but think about it. The lion goes out and puts in the time and effort to hunt and kill. The jackal sits back and watches at ease. When the lion sleeps, the jackal slips in and fills his belly from the lion's meat. Sooner or later, the lion will face a challenge and fall to another lion, but the jackal doesn't care. The jackal will always eat well, no matter who leads the pride."

Sato made a face. "Unless the jackal happens to provoke the lion into swatting him."

"Really?" Travis grimaced. "Can you afford to swat Tucker? You need his skills to win this war. None of his staff have the technical know how and experience to handle his job, and no other engineers in the fleet owe you personal loyalty. _Defiant_ alone can't crush the insurrection, one ship can't be everywhere at once. You need Tucker's insight into his counterpart's thinking so we can upgrade our current ships _fast_."

Hoshi said pensively, "He has already survived Forrest, Archer, and now me. Each time his position changed he has advanced his power and status..."

"Consider one thing more," Travis suggested. "Like you said, jackals are wild dogs. A sufficiently large pack of dogs is perfectly capable of pulling down a lion. Or a grizzly bear for that matter. Or anything else at all."

&

T'Pol stared straight ahead with the impassive expression that any soldier of the Empire was an expert at wearing. Hess prowled back and forth in front of her with her right hand on the dagger at her hip. The control pad for T'Pol's collar was in her left hand, and Hess stroked her thumb lovingly over the switches without looking at them. Her tight pupiled eyes never left the Vulcan's face.

T'Pol had withdrawn to the first level of meditation – fully aware of her surroundings but insulated from them. It was the only way she could maintain her control against the constant attacks that Hess had been subjecting her to since Tucker left her there at the beginning of the shift. Even through the fully opened bond T'Pol had not been able to determine for certain why Tucker had chosen to deliver her into the hands of Hess, instead of Rostov as he usually did. She had tentatively decided that it was a test of some sort. What she could not determine was exactly who was being tested.

Another jab of pain shot through her. Hess never broke stride nor changed expression in the slightest degree. There was never any warning of the attacks. Naturally. Earlier, the Human had resorted to more physical measures. Yanking on her neck chain, kicking, slapping... anything that might provoke T'Pol into making some kind of overt response. Anything that might give Hess an excuse to use the knife she wore.

"Why do you not kill me and be done with it?" T'Pol finally demanded. She half lifted herself by the bindings holding her wrists to the walls of Tucker's workspace and bared her teeth. "You want my blood, come and take it. Coward. Even secured as I am you fear to approach me." But there was no danger of her killing T'Pol. Hess would cut her own throat before doing anything to endanger Tucker.

"Oh believe me, Vulcan." Hess moved in slowly. "When the time is right, I will. But you won't see it coming. You won't hear it with those misshapen ears of yours. You won't have any idea of what is happening until you feel me pulling the blade out." Hess activated both triggers at maximum and held them there. Every muscle in T'Pol's body spasmed and then locked tight.

"Enough, Anna." T'Pol collapsed in relief. Tucker strolled through the entrance wearing a rueful expression. "I hope you two had a pleasant visit?"

"Absolutely, sir," Anna grinned. "Haven't had this much fun in years." Tucker winced almost imperceptibly and accepted the control pad with a nod. He looked at T'Pol and shook his head.

"We need a better arrangement than this," Tucker told them. "No reason to tie up you or Rostov just because I need to run an errand. I want you to take some of this material," he slapped the mesh partition that enclosed his work area, "and build a cage for me. Make it about two meters square, and maybe two and a half meters high. Big enough for her to have a mat to lay down on, and tall enough to stretch in, you understand? Weld a top on it from the same stuff. Then hang a lock on it that a laser cutter couldn't scratch. A mechanical lock. Let's go with a brute force approach so she can't use any fancy tricks. Got it?"

Anna smiled sadistically. "Sure thing, Commander. You want me to put it out in the middle of things where we can all enjoy the show?"

Tucker nodded. "Security alarms can be bypassed. There is no substitute for eyeballs. The more the better. Try to have it finished by the start of alpha shift tomorrow."

"Consider it done." Anna turned to leave, spearing T'Pol with a look of vicious satisfaction. She made a point of rolling her hips while she sauntered arrogantly through the door. T'Pol's nostril's flared when she saw Tucker watching. His expression did not change, but the bond informed her that he was not as indifferent as he pretended. Territorial rage began to kindle.

"Settle down," he muttered to her. Tucker sat at his desk and opened a file. They sat together in habitual silence for a time until T'Pol said, "Is it your wish to continue in this manner indefinitely?"

"I'm busy. I warned you about interrupting me when I am working." Tucker reached over and stroked the control pad.

"I could assist you," she doggedly continued.

He stopped and turned to look at her in disbelief. "You are still trying that one? Has that collar short circuited something in your brain?"

"You know that I have skills which could prove useful to you," T'Pol pressed onward with a hint of desperation. "It is illogical to waste such a resource."

Tucker stared at her with a dumbfounded expression. "I don't know. I don't understand what it would take to get an idea into your head. What was it back down the line that convinced you I'm too stupid to find my own ass with both hands and a telescope? Despite all evidence to the contrary, you seem determined that if you just keep repeatin' the same line of foolishness often enough, I'll eventually cave. The collar doesn't seem to be getting your attention. I doubt a club would work. What will it take?" He did not seem angry, rather his tone was honestly curious.

T'Pol took a deep breath and marshaled her arguments. "Will you accept the premise that I would prefer life over death?"

Tucker blinked, caught off guard. "I s'pose. You never struck me as suicidal by choice."

"Will you accept that premise that my exile is genuine? And also, that because of my exile I am considered unfit for association by any honorable Vulcan?" T'Pol had to fight to keep her voice steady on this part.

"Yeah," he agreed. "That matches the database." Sudden hope flared in T'Pol, cause by his mention of _Defiant's_ database. Her own study of the database prior to the mutiny proved that the Humans of the alternate universe had a far more extensive and sympathetic understanding of her people than did the Terrans of this universe. Further, it was becoming obvious that Tucker regarded _Defiant's_ database as the final authority on all things Vulcan. A reasonable position on his part, given his past experience. Therefore, all she had to do was use arguments that would be supported by the database. Any attempt at persuasion using alternative approaches would no doubt be rejected automatically.

"I desire to live," T'Pol stated simply. "My people will not have me. My choices are limited. I could attempt to escape and become a criminal outcast, thereby compounding the shame upon my family. I could attempt to escape and join the rebellion, but this would most likely result in my death."

"Oh really?" Tucker looked unconvinced, to say the least. "Why would that be?"

"Because I would be assumed to be a spy," she told him. "After failing to capture _Defiant,_ and having been held prisoner this long in a ship equipped with advanced facilities, the rebels would not dare assume anyhing except that I had been compromised. Nothing I told them would be believed." She hesitated and then added between gritted teeth, "Especially if the Vulcans among them discovered that I had betrayed my own bonded mate."

"Ya think that that might bruise your credibility a little?" Tucker asked her innocently.

T'Pol closed her eyes in pain. "I will not attempt to minimize the extent of my transgression. Nor does my lowest opinion of you include the possibility that you would ever be foolish enough to trust me. But I could be useful to you, and it is my hope that by being useful I may eventually earn improvements in my own living conditions. Perhaps, someday, I may even regain some slight trace of self-respect."

"So you want to work your way up to some privileges, huh?" Tucker looked at her and considered. "You're going to be underfoot anyway, I guess I might as well get some work out of you But don't expect to get your hands on anything important."

"Of course not," T'Pol said wryly.

"_Ghengis Khan_ is at the Andorian front," Tucker told her. "Her majesty is going to summon them to a rendezvous so we can install some upgrades to their weapons and shields. You will need to come along anyway, just to keep that proximity trigger quiet in case the ships need to separate for some reason. You will be doing scut work in the engine room. Hard, filthy, dangerous, radioactive, slick, stinking work. Still want to try it?" He sneered.

"Yes," she said promptly.

"You sure?" he prompted. "You might want kids someday, after I'm dead. If you spend time in an NX engine room, your kids might come out with forked tails and purple horns."

"I am certain," she insisted. Tucker made the Human gesture of raising both hands, palm upward to indicate acquiescence. T'Pol settled back in satisfaction and began sinking into deeper meditation. It was only the smallest of beginnings, but it was a beginning.

&

Three days later, the _Ghengis Khan_ drew alongside _Defiant_ and matched courses. Captain Martinson's request for permission to dock was bluntly refused, to his obvious chagrin. Her Imperial Majesty deigned to explain to him, "Are you insane? Do you really expect me to allow a potential bomb to latch itself to my flagship? Stand by for my engineering teams to begin transporting over."

Hoshi flicked off the comm with an irritable click. "Fool," she muttered. She spun the command chair toward the ops position and demanded, "Status, Malcolm?"

"All of their weapons are powered down," he reported with more than a trace of disappointment. "No targeting sensors active, no signs of defensive posture, no hostile activity of any kind."

"Did you really expect any?" Travis murmured from beside her chair.

"Not really," Hoshi told him from the corner of her mouth. "But I have no intention of pulling an Archer. When I die, whoever it is will have to come after me. I have no intention of inviting them." Aloud she said, "All right Malcolm, tell the engineering teams that they are clear for transport."

Reed's always sour expression turned even more bitter at this order, but he turned reluctantly toward the comm and passed along the instruction. A moment Tucker confirmed from the Ghengis Khan that the first of the scheduled three groups of engineers had arrived. "Commence transporting second team," Hoshi ordered.

Reed emitted a screeching gasp and clutched his chest. He fell against the console as his knees buckled. Travis and the two MACO guards were holding weapons and taut as bowstrings, but there was no enemy to shoot. There was only a man slowly sinking to the floor, with his mouth working silently as he fought for breath that would not come.

"Sickbay!" Hoshi hit the comm switch. "Medic to the bridge! Code blue!"

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Payment Part 12

By Blacknblue

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

Note: Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

* * *

**Chapter 12:**

Doctor Kim peeled off his sterile gloves and emerged from behind the curtain to find Travis Mayweather waiting for him. He flinched and wondered, again, _Why did that son of a bitch have to die now? Why not yesterday? Or tomorrow? Why did he have to pick today of all days?_ But he pulled himself to attention and said, "Sir!" with all the briskness he could muster after a five hour autopsy.

Mayweather nodded. "At ease, Doctor." He glanced around _Ghengis Khan's_ sickbay, finally pointing at Kim's workstation. "Sit down before you fall down."

Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." Kim eased himself into his chair painfully. The disk deterioration in his back was getting worse. Unfortunately, the "physician, heal thyself" adage was no more practical in the 22nd century than it had ever been. If only he knew a competent surgeon that he could trust...

"So what killed him?" Travis asked tersely. His tone was flat and businesslike, holding no particular emotion. Kim sighed and looked up.

"In layman's terms, Sir, Colonel Reed died from natural causes. Specifically he died from cardiac arrest. That's my diagnosis." Kim tensed and waited for the verdict on his own survival. If his answer wasn't what the powers that be wanted to hear, he was dog meat. Truth meant nothing.

Mayweather drew back and looked surprised. "Are you certain?" He also sounded surprised. Not angry or upset, merely honestly surprised.

"Yes, Sir," Kim told him. "There was no trace of poison or any other foreign substance in his body. No sign of radiation or sonic damage. No detectable pathogens. However his cholesterol levels were sky high, and his arteries were clogged very nearly solid from arteriosclerosis. I also found evidence of advanced damage from long term hypertension. Apparently Colonel Reed had been suffering from dangerously elevated stress levels for an extended period of time."

Mayweather snorted in amusement. "You might put it that way. You are telling me that he worried himself to death?" The empress's consort looked ironically mocking, and both eyebrows were climbing into his hairline.

Kim shifted uncomfortably. "I- suppose a person could put it that way."

Mayweather chuckled. "Fair enough. Wrap him up and ship him back to Defiant, along with your report. Our technicians can double check your results, they need the practice. Then pack your gear. Your are transferring to the flagship."

Kim snapped to his feet with his heart in his throat. "Sir! I! I mean... Thank you!"

Mayweather waved it off. "We lack a doctor at the moment. Her majesty burned out our last one in the agony booth, and the techs we are making do with just aren't enough for more than glorified first aid. Her majesty's flagship can't be allowed to continue without a physician on staff, can it?"

"No, Sir. Of course not." Kim started to get his breathing under control. "I will inform Captain Martinson immediately."

"I'll take care of it," Mayweather told him. "Just deal with your end. Report to Defiant and assume command of her sickbay at 1400 hours. Dismissed." He turned and strode out, followed by his bodyguards. Kim sank back down, shaking in reaction.

&

Tucker told the engineering Crewman, "Like this. Set the forcefield emitter here." He placed the small instrument against the base of the reactor. "Now put the next one here." He placed a second emitter exactly 1.12 meters away from the first. "Continue to space them around the perimeter at those intervals. The back end will remain unshielded, so remember to flare out the shielding at the rear so it intersects with the rear bulkhead. Got it?" She nodded. "The set the next series on top of the side panels, orienting the emitters so that the dispersion will intersect diagonally with the lower row. Repeat the process with the third row at the top of the catwalk." On the opposite side of the reactor, Rostov was providing one of _Ghengis Khan's_ ensigns with identical instructions.

T'Pol continued dragging a thick power cable up the catwalk ladder and pretended that she did not hear the conversation. This trip was proving to be quite illuminating in many ways. For one thing, she had never guessed that engineering involved so much brute manual labor. T'Pol vaguely recalled being pleased at Tucker's muscular physique during her time with him, but the fever had distracted her from paying much attention to details. She had since noted that he was relatively strong by Human standards, but assumed it was due to frequent workouts in the gym. She was beginning to revise this theory.

Because of the well known strength of Vulcans, T'Pol had been assigned to those tasks that required maximum physical effort. On the face of it, this appeared to be an entirely logical decision. T'Pol's difficulty lay in the fact that she had spent the last decade living and working under Terran gravity. As a consequence her muscles had atrophied and she was no longer three times as strong as the average Human woman of her size and body type. She was actually more like twice as strong as a slim Human woman now, if that much. In other words, about as strong as the Human men she was working with.

She recalled her knife duel with Sato and flushed in humiliation. Had T'Pol still possessed her normal strength and stamina she could have defeated the tiny Human woman effortlessly. At the first grapple she could have broken Sato's wrist, and her neck with a follow-up blow within seconds. Instead...

Arrogance had been her downfall in so many ways. Living among Humans she had seen no urgent requirement to maintain Vulcan standards. And she had paid the price. It was humiliating to acknowledge, even to herself, but T'Pol was beginning to suspect that some of the larger Human males might be stronger than she was. The labor she had been assigned was quite strenuous and she was having real difficulty with it. But asking for assistance was out of the question. Even if she could bring herself to ask, there was virtually no chance of receiving aid. Not for her.

The earlier announcement of Colonel Reed's demise had not caused a significant disturbance among the engineering crew. Various shrugs and mutters had occurred, culminating in scattered chuckles until Tucker abruptly ordered everyone to get back to work. Significant glances continued to pass back and forth among the engineering crew, but the commentary ceased. At least, comments pertaining to Major Reed's death ceased. T'Pol continued to note frequent, brief but intense interchanges between Tucker's crew and a few specific members of the _Ghengis Khan's_ engineering staff. The newcomers, once apparently briefed, again sought out a select few of their colleagues. The majority of the engineering staff however, including the chief engineer, was not brought into the fold.

T'Pol observed this byplay with deep interest and began preparing herself for a probable outbreak of weapon fire in the near future. Experience had long ago taught her that such clandestine communications almost inevitably heralded a change in the chain-of-command. This being a different ship, Tucker's precise intention was difficult to deduce. But he undoubtedly had a plan that was in the process of being activated. In which case it behooved her to remain alert for any possibility to demonstrate her potential usefulness.

Unless she wanted to remain chained to a fence for the rest of her life, or caged like a Le-Matya in a zoological garden, she needed to demonstrate to her mate that she was willing and able to be an effective assistant. The idea that Tucker would ever accept her as a partner was ludicrously unlikely. But she might conceivably attain the status of concubine. Logically, it was the best she could hope for. There was no place for her among the Vulcans now. Even if the rebellion succeeded, her own people would still cast her out for what she had done. Only if the mutiny had succeeded and Tucker had died with her secret intact could she have returned home. Now that her crime was known, she was forever outlawed by her kind. No other non-Terrans would have her – none would dare trust her. Especially since her own kin called her traitor. Her only place was here, and only Tucker stood between her and slow death at Sato's hands. Her one chance for survival was to earn his approval. She anticipated that it would take several years. But on the other hand, she wasn't planning on going anywhere.

As T'Pol connected to the power cable leads she noted that Tucker was unobtrusively making small adjustments to each of the control consoles. He would pause briefly at each console while Rostov and at least one of the _Gengis Khan's_ crew stood nearby, then casually move on. Afterward the crewman would instantly take position at the console Tucker had just vacated and begin working on something. In a few moments new equipment began arriving. From her viewpoint on the high catwalk, T'Pol observed that several items remained packaged and were swiftly carried from their transfer crates to ship's storage units without being itemized on the inventory report.

T'Pol eliminated possibilities and extrapolated probabilities at maximum speed. A picture began to emerge, but it was unfocused. Still, the liklihood of violence seemed greater than ever. She shifted her attention toward monitoring the the location of Chief Engineer Rotterdam. She noted that Commander Rotterdam was still in his office, whence he had retired after being informed in no uncertain terms that the presence of a Vulcan in his engine room was something that he was going to tolerate, whether he liked it or not. Rotterdam's intolerance for non-Terran's of any breed was well known among the fleet. Non-humans went to extreme lengths to avoid posting to the _Ghengis Khan_, even those who were not engineers.

The main entrance doors to Engineering whooshed open, and T'Pol glanced over in mild curiosity. She froze in position while transmitting a telepathic shout of danger and alarm.

&

Tucker dropped the PADD and snatched at the phaser on his belt. Rostov whirled and grabbed his own weapon while scanning the room. "Boss? What?" Tucker blinked and shook his head. The vision had come in a flash, like an after image. But it was crystal clear. And he could still hear T'Pol's wordless voice ringing in his ears, crying out in fear.

"Trouble," he said softly. "Security from _Defiant_." Rostov nodded and slipped off to the side, gesturing toward a group of _Defiant's_ crewman to follow. Tucker put the phaser back on his belt and straightened from his crouch, counting slowly to two hundred. Then he sauntered forward to greet his visitors.

It was Macomber, Delgado, and Weijeira. Tucker felt his scalp tighten. They were Reed's best executioners. Whoever had taken over for Reed wasn't wasting any time. Cole most likely, she was as vicious as a cobra and about as patient. _It wouldn't make any difference to her that there was no sign of murder,_ he considered. _Facts never did sway her once her mind was made up._ He shrugged. He had expected no less.

"You boys need something?" he asked bluntly in an unwelcoming tone.

Weijeira spoke up. "Major Reed left standing orders in case of his death, Commander," he informed Tucker politely. "Lieutenant Commander Cole has instructed us to carry them out."

Tucker snorted. "Lieutenant Commander? Already? I see Reed kept her busy. Is she too sore to sit in his desk chair?"

Weijeira ignored the slur. "The major ordered that in the event of his death, if no other cause of death could be proven beyond a doubt, his successor was to conclude that you were responsible and was to take appropriate action." He smiled. "We are the appropriate action." He moved for his weapon and T'Pol struck him in the middle of his back at the bottom of a flying dive from the catwalk. They both hit the deck with a sickening crunch. Human blood began to pool out from beneath the tangled pair. Meanwhile, a collection of phaser beams emerged from various points in the engine room and intersected at two separate foci, one centered on Macomber, and the other centered on Delgado. Both assassins glowed brightly for an instant, then vanished.

"What the hell is going on here!" Rotterdam came storming out of his office, red faced and sputtering. He caught sight of T'Pol laying atop Weijeira's body. "By the Empress' teats, I knew it! I knew letting one of those murdering aliens aboard was trouble. You should have known better yourself, Tucker. After what they did to your people on _Enterprise_, how could you think it would be safe to have one anywhere around? I talked the Captain into spacing the ones we had aboard as soon as we heard about that mutiny, and what happens but you turn around and bring back another one! Well I can fix that." He drew his old style phase pistol and took aim at T'Pol.

Tucker snatched his weapon and fired in a single smooth motion. Rotterdam didn't have time to twitch, much less know what killed him. Tucker sighed, replaced the weapon and turned to look at T'Pol. She turned to face him with a bloody nose and said, "Mission accomplished, sir."

&

T'Pol sat in Rotterdam's former office and held a cloth to her bloody nose. Tucker had unceremoniously dumped her there and instructed Rostov bluntly, "Watch her. Keep her there. Keep her alive. If she causes trouble, stun her, but only if you have to. If you stun her, it bothers me too." Then he walked out, heading for the bridge. Rostov had taken position at the doorway with his phaser in hand, for once not looking quite as hostile toward T'Pol as usual. She was neither shackled nor tethered, strangely enough.

With Tucker's departure the entire engine room burst into low voiced chattering and whispering. T'Pol attempted to pick out individual conversations, with minimal success. The word 'replicator' was being repeated frequently, along with 'shielding' and 'drugs'. She also heard an extremely faint reference to 'regenerative therapy', which caused her to sit upright suddenly and pay closer attention. Her mind raced. Logical connections began to fall into place. References to drugs and regenerative therapy, in conjunction with undocumented equipment being shipped to the _Ghengis Khan's_ engineering personnel, equipment that quite probably included spare parts and specifications for constructing 23rd century replicators... It was all beginning to make sense.

Tucker had eliminated Rotterdam, and he had done it in such a way that he could plausibly claim self-defense. With Sato's carte-blanche to requisition any personnel he desired, Tucker would be able to make sure that the most senior remaining personnel were the ones that he chose. No doubt they would be engineers that he personally knew and trusted, most likely they would be ones that he had leverage over. With this, plus the added incentive of advanced technology from _Defiant_ to provide them with additional status and political power aboard the _Ghengis Khan_...

T'Pol's eyes narrowed. Yes. It was all becoming very clear. The scope and daring of the plan was quite impressive. If Tucker could manage to infiltrate and insert his own people, engineers who were personally loyal to him alone, aboard every warship in the fleet he would be unstoppable. He would need to proceed with extreme patience, but Tucker had already demonstrated extreme patience and self-discipline many times.

At any point, if Sato or Mayweather gained the slightest hint of a suspicion about what he was doing, the legendary tale of his death would live for generations in song and story. But _if_ he succeeded, then Tucker might very well become the first emperor in history who could never be toppled. No one would ever be _able_ to being him down. No one would ever be able to marshal the physical resources to do it. Without ships and weapons, no one could strike. And without the engineers, there were no ships and weapons to be had.

T'Pol sat in a stunned fog and realized that she faced the potential opportunity to become the bonded concubine of the most powerful Terran Emperor who had ever lived. She might be able to use her influence to gain untold advantages for her people. But first, she would have to gain Tucker's willingness to use her. Then, she would have to keep him alive along enough to finish his work. Then, she needed to help him succeed.

It was going to be a very busy 23.64 years.

&

Tucker paced back and forth in his quarters and ran a hand through his hair. He was bone tired. T'Pol sat on her mat next to the lavatory with her leg chain fastened and watched him curiously. Her face was smooth but the curiosity came through the bond clearly. He stopped abruptly and asked her, "What did they do to you, anyway?"

She raised an eyebrow. He really hated that. For some reason it got under his hide, and she kept doing it just to aggravate him, she was sure of it. "To what do you refer?" T'Pol replied coolly.

"Ever since those Vulcan fossils did whatever it was that they did to you, this bond feels different. What changed?" Tucker demanded with irritation in his voice. "Before that, I could barely feel you even if I concentrated, even when you were asleep and I was drunk. Now, I can pick up _everything._ Even when I don't want to. What did they do?"

T'Pol closed her eyes and sighed. "I was blocking you. I did not wish you to become aware of the bond, so I maintained shields, and I did everything I could to maintain barriers between us" She looked at him. "By minimizing contact, I prevented the bond from developing past the initial stage. But when the elders probed me, the strength of the invasion caused my subconscious mind to instinctively reach out for reinforcement to my bonded mate, in other words you. The surge of telepathic power opened the synaptic pathways in my brain to their most active state. Once activated, they will not return to their previous levels unless..." she trailed off.

"Until I die," he finished for her. She nodded and looked away.

He growled and resumed pacing. "What am I supposed to do with you now?" he wondered. "You warned me. I could feel it." He stopped and glared at her. "You dove right into him. Didn't you stop to think that you might have been killed? You fool! It might have occurred to you that I was ready for him. You knew that I was warned."

"I did not think," T'Pol admitted quietly, looking embarrassed. "It was instinctive. He was threatening my bondmate."

"Bull," Tucker snorted. "You tried to have me killed. Now you claim that the sight of me in danger causes you to get all teary-eyed and protective? Tell it to Security."

T'Pol hunched her shoulders and looked at her lap. "I did not try to kill you myself," she pointed out. She raised her head. "I never arranged to have you attacked directly or deliberately. I knew that you would probably die, I admit this. But I did not specifically order your death, nor did I deliberately arrange to be present when it happened. Even then, with our bond at its most preliminary level, I would not have been able to stand by and watch it happen without acting to defend you. Even knowing indirectly that my actions would probably result in your death was intensely painful to me. Believe this or not, as it pleases you."

"Nothing about this pleases me," Tucker muttered. He turned away and walked over to the port, looking out at the stars. "I should have let you die," he said distantly. "Better yet, I should have given you to Reed. He would have gotten some real enjoyment out of you, and I might even have been able to use the gift as leverage to buy some influence." He ignored the small sound she made. Tucker turned around and walked back to stand in front of her again.

A sharp whistle sounded, and the comm erupted in Rostov's voice,

"_Hippity-hop." _

Tucker replied sourly, "Tar Baby." The comm clicked off. T'Pol blinked and looked inquisitive. He twisted his mouth and said, "Security just tried to monitor my quarters again. Rostov activated my secondary defenses. Not a problem." He shook his head while she looked interested.

"Are you confidant in the security measures you have in place?" she asked him softly.

"Yeah," he looked curious.

T'Pol pressed her lips together, then told him, "I believe I have deduced at least a portion of your objective. I wish to assist you."

Tucker rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Have you now? It figures you would. If I can pick up this much on my end with no more telepathic talent than a Human brain has, I can only imagine how much you are sifting out."

"Surprisingly little," she admitted. "Your mind is respectably disciplined. But I have excellent hearing, and there was considerable conversation aboard the _Ghengis Khan._"

Tucker barked a laugh. "I'm tempted to issue ball gags next time. But then they couldn't do their jobs. Lose, lose, either way again. You see? Just like you. I know exactly what to do to make sure of your loyalty, but I can't make up my mind whether or not I dare use it." He walked over and sat down on the bed, looking sad.

T'Pol stiffened, then hurriedly stood up. "Whatever it is, I will submit to it willingly," she told him. "Your service is my only path now."

He looked at her speculatively. "I studied the database, ya know." She nodded. "I looked up everything I could find about Vulcan bonds, especially anything it had about bonds between Vulcans and Humans. I was really surprised at how many times Humans married Vulcans in that other universe. Hundreds of them. And most of them had kids." T'Pol looked shocked.

"Hundreds? There were hundreds of half-... There were hundreds of bi-species children?" She looked as if she couldn't decide whether to be appalled or astonished.

"Thousands," Tucker went on grimly. "'Cause those kids had kids too, ya know." She sat back down quickly, looking pale. He saw her swallow. "Makes you sick, huh?"

"N-No," she protested. "It is merely unexpected." She swallowed again. "It is a new idea. As such, time is required to adjust. However there is no reason to expect such a mated pair to refrain from reproducing. Logic dictates that the early results must have been acceptable, or subsequent matings would not have taken place."

"Huh," Tucker grunted. "You still look a little yellow around the gills. Here's something that will really churn your stomach. Wanna here it?"

Her mouth tightened. "I repeat, I am not repulsed. Merely surprised. Further information is not going to 'churn my stomach' as the Human saying has it."

Tucker said softly, "Really? How's this then. The first ever recorded Human-Vulcan hybrid was Elizabeth T'Les Tucker, daughter of Charles Tucker III and T'Pol, daughter of T'Les."

T'Pol buckled over. She clenched her fists and buried them in her belly, then rolled into a ball. Tucker stood up and wavered, undecided. The waves of pain and despair that he felt rolling off her were almost enough to drive him to his own knees. In some ways it was even worse than when the High Council had banished her. But he wasn't about to put his hands on her. Hesitantly, he moved toward the drawer where he kept the hypo with a Vulcan sedative. Then he stopped in mid-step. A small keening was issuing from her, almost impossible for his Human ears to make out.

Tucker let his shoulders sag. He couldn't do it. _Shit. If she kills me, at least I won't have to deal with Cole._ He walked over to the mat and knelt beside her. "Hey." Tucker reached out, winced, and gingerly grabbed her shoulder. "T'Pol. Look at me." The sound tapered off. Her eyes opened in surprise. She looked at his face, then at his hand on her shoulder. She did not move. "Sit up, I am going to show you something. I know I am going to regret this for the rest of my life, but everything else I have ever done connected with you is something that I have regretted, so why should this be any different?"

He stood and stepped backward to the edge of his bunk and waited until she sat up, watching numbly as she brushed away tears. "First, check me on something. I want to see if I was right on what I felt through the bond. Why were you crying?"

T'Pol's chin lifted stubbornly and she met his gaze for a moment. Then she dropped her eyes in defeat. "You already know. Must you humiliate me by forcing me to say the words?"

"Maybe I know," Tucker spoke as gently as he knew how. "Maybe I don't. This telepathy doesn't come naturally to me, remember? Just tell me, so I can know if I am right. Why did you cry?"

She refused to meet his eyes. "Because I can never have children. Even if we were not bonded, no Vulcan will have me now. Before I did not believe it was possible for a Vulcan and Human to reproduce. Now that I know it can be done, it is still not possible for me. You would never give me your child. Even if you would, your genes have been damaged by the radiation from the NX warp core. I will die alone, and my line will die with me."

&

"That's about what I thought was coming through," Tucker said. "Remember what you said before, about jumping Weijeira because it was instinctive? That agrees with what the database said. But it also told me some other things."

T'Pol tossed her head and looked at him. The bond informed her that something had changed recently. Three days ago, Tucker had applied a sedative to her before she slept for the first time since the beginning of her captivity. He refused to offer an explanation for this action. The following morning she sensed through the bond that his attitude had moderated for some reason. She had immediately visited the lavatory to check for the most likely cause, but found no evidence of nocturnal rape. Still he seemed significantly less hostile for some reason. And now, incredibly, she felt real sympathy leaking through as a result of her loss of control. Whatever the cause of it, this was an opportunity that she could not afford to pass up.

"What other things? I know you will believe Defiant's database, whereas you will always assume I am lying unless proven otherwise. This is acceptable to me. I recall the database as being accurate, at least those portions that I personally read."

T'Pol braced her hands behind her and leaned back, deliberately pulling the cloth of her coverall tightly across her chest. She had noticed since the opening of the bond that Tucker was readily susceptible to visual stimulation. If Hess could catch his attention by swaying her hips and thrusting her breasts, so could T'Pol. It was working too. She could tell through the bond that her mate was becoming frustrated by having two females that he considered visually appealing flaunting themselves at him simultaneously. No Human male could withstand such temptation indefinitely. She was confidant that when his self-control finally broke, the bond would ensure that he turned to her for relief.

She saw him lick his lips and turn away quickly. Satisfaction warmed her. It could not be much longer. None of the Human instructors at the indoctrination center could have held out even this long. The sudden thought darkened her mood and forced her to invoke the Disciplines. She steadied her breathing and concentrated on paying attention to what Tucker was saying. He was continuing on with his recitation of facts that he had gleaned from Defiant's database.

"The reports all agreed that what you said was correct," Tucker seemed to be distracted about something. He kept looking at the far corner of the room for some reason. "It said that there had never been a recorded case of a sane Vulcan physically attacking their bonded mate. Apparently once the bond is complete it acts to protect itself somehow. Neither partner is able to take direct action against the other. Your own instincts would prevent it. For Vulcans anyway. A Human partner is still capable of violence toward the Vulcan partner though," he added pointedly, "since we aren't programmed with the same instincts. So don't get cocky."

"I would never dream of doing so," she assured him. Tucker staggered and shot her a look of pure disbelief.

"Ri-i-i-ight." He cleared his throat. "But that's not good enough. Like you mentioned. Even if you can't shoot me yourself, you're still capable of getting someone else to do it. Or setting a trap and waiting for me to spring it. I need something that will keep you from even thinking about getting me killed. I need some way to force you to want me to stay alive."

"You already have that." T'Pol stood up again and fingered the collar she wore. "Even without this collar, my life depends on yours. If you die, I would never survive. If Sato did not kill me, Hess or Rostov would. If none of them did, the rest of the crew would enjoy watching me die, simply in revenge for what I did on Enterprise. I have nowhere to go and no one else to protect me. You are all I have left."

"Then you're in sad shape, lady," Tucker said tiredly.

T'Pol raised another irritating eyebrow. "This is true," she agreed. Tucker growled and threw up his hands. Then he walked over to the far side of his quarters to stand beside the ventilation grating. He swung open the grating and reached for the hinge, manipulating it until a click sounded. A small panel directly beside the grating slid aside, revealing a cylinder approximately a third of a meter long by fifth of a meter in diameter. Tucker removed the cylinder and carried it over to hold it in front of her.

"What is is?" she asked calmly. Tucker didn't answer immediately. Instead he examined the cylinder carefully, while he held it cradled gently in his hands, as if it contained something precious.

"I've been taking medicine," he told her abruptly. "We all have. Everyone in engineering."

"I deduced this," T'Pol told him smugly. "There was mention of drugs earlier. Also something was said about regenerative therapy."

Tucker snorted, then chuckled, then broke into honest laughter. Through the bond she felt his sardonic amusement. "You really don't need telepathy with those ears, do you?" He grinned at her in admiration, causing her to be taken aback. Something had most definitely caused a change in his attitude. "Since we stole a doctor now, there's not much point in hiding it. Of course, nobody is going to advertise what we did. But Hoshi and Travis aren't stupid enough to block his access to the medical database. And the first time he examines someone from engineering he will see it. The drugs we take have repaired the radiation damage from the NX engines." He looked at her. "It even repaired the existing genetic damage."

T'Pol tightened every muscle and stopped breathing momentarily until she could properly regulate her autonomic functions. There was anticipation coming through the bond. He was leading up to something with this line of talk. And now, _now_, _**now**_ she suddenly recognized where she had seen a cylinder like that before. Shivers ran up and down her spine, uncontrollably.

"So that was why you chose to sedate me," she said tonelessly.

"Smart girl," Tucker told her. "You figured it out, haven't you?"

"There is nothing I can say, and nothing I can do, that would be sufficient assurance for you," T'Pol told him, staring fixedly at the cylinder. Alternating waves of cold and heat were splashing through her. She raised her hand and reached out to touch it, but Tucker was a few centimeters too far away. She sent him a pleading look, but he shook his head.

"Let's hear it first."

T'Pol looked back at the cylinder. "Only an assurance of my loyalty that was based on Vulcan physiology would be sufficiently powerful to satisfy you. And only then, if it was supported by the information in Defiant's database. We are already tied with a mating bond. There is only one other bond that could increase my level of connection to you." She stopped, never taking her eyes off the bio-cylinder.

"Yeah. You're sharp all right," Tucker said flatly. "I searched high and low, back and forth. This was the only thing I could find. According to what I found, loyalty to the blood is everything to a Vulcan." He waited, but she neither moved nor spoke. She just kept staring. "You don't have anymore close blood relatives. They are all dead. At least nothing closer than third or fourth cousin. I checked your service record."

"Yes," T'Pol answered as if in a dream. "My parents were killed in service to the empire. All my relatives either died in service or were murdered by the empire."

Tucker winced. "Yeah. I know. But the point is, you don't have any real close blood relatives to hold your loyalty." He stopped and lifted the bio-cylinder. "Or at least, you didn't until now." He handed it to her. T'Pol took it with hands that trembled and eyes that dripped. She bent her head over the self-contained life support mechanism and faintly, almost imperceptibly, deep within, she could feel the whisper soft trace of new life. And she could recognize it.

Distantly she heard her mate continuing. "Loyalty to the blood. I kept running into it over and over. And everything kept telling me that loyalty to the blood of the Child was the most powerful of all. Because the blood of the Child was also the blood of the Self. And the second most powerful loyalty, was loyalty to the other parent of the child. Because the blood of the Child also ran in the blood of the other parent. It said that in all of recorded Vulcan history, no one had ever documented a case where a mate had betrayed the father or mother of their children. Not for any reason."

T'Pol knelt on the mat and hugged the bio-cylinder to her breast, weeping silently and unashamed. Tucker hesitated for a moment, then he knelt in front of her. "We have to keep this a secret, you know that don't you?"

_**Fear! Danger! **_

T'Pol saw the surge of emotion knock her mate backward and fought hard to contain the torrent of blazing rage. "Yes," she said thickly. "I understand. No one must know of this. Not even your staff."

"Too late for that," Tucker told her. "Rostov knows." Anger kindled. How dare he endanger their child? "Calm down," he ordered. "I needed his help with this. But I can trust him. He owes me, big time. And I know enough to put him and his whole family into a labor colony for the rest of their lives. He won't say anything."

"Hess!" It came out between bared teeth. "She must die. She will kill our child if she knows."

"No." Tucker told her firmly. "I need Hess. I know that you and Hess have issues. Keep it under control. Hess is no more dangerous to the kid than anyone else."

"You desire her!" T'Pol lashed out. "You wish to keep her as a second concubine! You shall not! You are my mate now!"

"Easy! Take it easy..." Tucker backed up warily with his hands raised. He looked nervous. T'Pol felt his uncertainty tinged with fear and realized that her unshielded emotions and lack of control were becoming dangerous.

"I-" She took a deep breath. "I regret my lapse of control. I plead the shock of surprise, and my deep concern for the safety of our child." Tucker started to loosen up.

"OK," the tension started to leave his shoulders. "I- um- anyway. I think I should put the bio-cylinder back in its hiding place for now. It will be safe there for the next few weeks. Then we will need to transfer the fetus to the bigger cylinder in our aid station in engineering."

"Agreed." T'Pol stood up. "Release me. I need to be free to move if our child needs protection." Her tone did not allow for disagreement.

Tucker eyed her narrowly. Finally he nodded and knelt to unlock the chain. "Remember what I said earlier," he warned. "I can still stun you if you get out of hand."

"Noted," she said shortly. "You will not have cause. Our goals are the same now. We must both survive and succeed, for the sake of our child." She placed the bio-cylinder tenderly in its resting place and reached for the hidden switch to close the door. After swinging the grating closed she turned to look at him. "I will need to know the full extent of your plans if I am to assist you."

"No, you don't," he informed her. "You don't and you won't. Live with it."

"As you wish," she told him reluctantly, "husband." He flinched at the word and she made a note not to use it excessively in the future, even though it was functionally correct.

"Let's get some sleep," Tucker suggested. "0430 comes early."

"Agreed." As T'Pol moved toward her mat her mind was ablaze with plans and contingencies. It was absolutely necessary that Hess die. Tucker might, or might not, be considering her as an alternate source of sexual gratification. That issue was almost irrelevant. Almost irrelevant. What mattered was the fact that Hess would instantly perceive that she could never have Tucker for her own mate as long as T'Pol and Tucker shared a child. Killing T'Pol would still leave Tucker with a half-Vulcan child to raise, something that Hess would never be willing to tolerate. Their child would not be safe while Hess lived. Since Tucker would not do it, and would not agree to it, she would have to proceed with caution.

She laid down and glanced at her mate, hearing him sigh with relief and noting the evidence of extreme fatigue. He was working too many hours. She needed to persuade him to delegate more. T'Pol fidgeted briefly, then reversed her position so that her head was pointed toward the opposite end of her mat. This allowed her to see the far side of the room where the bio-cylinder was hidden.

_Cole is another difficulty,_ she mused. Lieutenant Commander Cole had long resented Tucker for refusing her advances several years ago. The accident that resulted in the loss of her hand escalated that resentment into blind hatred. While Cole was far from Tucker's equal in intelligence her position as the new head of security gave her the potential to be dangerous. She must be eliminated. This was going to be even more delicate than removing Hess.

Meanwhile, Tucker's plan needed to proceed. The new doctor would either need to be suborned, telepathically influenced, or removed. She would decide which once she had met him and been able to form a preliminary opinion.

"I should sleep," she decided. "Tomorrow will be busy. Our child will inherit an empire. I must be ready to do my part to ensure that it is a worthy one."

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

Payment

By Blacknblue

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

Note: Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

* * *

Chapter 13:

T'Pol drew herself upward with her left arm until her face pressed firmly against the top of the cage. Her right arm, torso, and both legs hung straight downward in a perfect vertical line. She held still for exactly thirty seconds, and then allowed her arm to straighten slowly. Switching hands, she repeated the movement with her right arm and held it for another thirty seconds. Then she allowed her arm to straighten and finally dropped the few centimeters to the deck.

To her intense disgust, her shoulders were registering sensations of fatigue. Slight, but quite noticeable. Two hundred repetitions of a one armed pull-up should have been effortless for her, especially under Terran gravity. She had certainly permitted herself to deteriorate into a shameful state. This was unacceptable, and rectifying the situation took top priority.

T'Pol crossed her ankle over her thigh and began doing deep one-legged squats, resolutely ignoring the probing Human eyes that surrounded her. The cage that Tucker had caused to be built for her was situated near the center of Engineering, ideally positioned so that the entire shift could easily keep an eye on her. Logically, she could not fault his reasoning. Despite their recent change in circumstance, her mate still did not fully trust her. Being Human, he lacked the instinctive understanding of what sharing the parentage of a child meant to a Vulcan. She could no more harm him now than she could harm herself. In fact, it was less likely. She might conceivably be driven to suicide. But harming the father of her child was beyond her ability to contemplate.

But even if he did start to trust her, it would certainly raise suspicions if he were to suddenly free her from restraints. Given her past history, an open cage with room to move around was probably the best she could hope for at present. It was certainly preferable to a leash.

T'Pol forced herself into maximum effort with the calisthenics. Several of the male Humans paused in their work to watch with lascivious interest until Hess growled at them. She needed to work off the tension somehow. This situation was rapidly becoming intolerable. Every day that she had to spend away from her baby was more difficult than the last. It was unnatural, to say the least. A fetus at this stage of development was supposed to be safely wrapped in their mother's womb, being cherished by her body and mind. Not floating inside a metal container in a secret closet.

Intellectually, T'Pol knew that their quarters were heavily guarded and monitored. Intellectually, T'Pol knew that her mate was sitting across the room and she would have felt his response through the bond if he had received notification of some problem. Intellectually, T'Pol knew that probability highly favored their child being quite safe and healthy.

Maternal instinct bared its teeth and snarled. Intellect cowered and scuttled back into a dark corner somewhere. She wanted her baby. If she couldn't touch her baby, she at least wanted to be close enough to feel its tiny life through the walls of the bio-cylinder. The frustration was driving her to the brink of madness.

&

Tucker sighed and glanced over at the cage. She was seething again. _I don't like it either lady, but what do you want me to do?_, he thought at her. There was no response of course. There never was. T'Pol could send clear pictures and strong feelings across the bond at him, seemingly at will. But Tucker was unable to reach her at all unless she deliberately concentrated. Apparently his telepathic rating was somewhere between that of a Vulcan newborn and a domesticated animal called a sehlat, according to T'Pol. In other words, not worth a crap.

He firmly resisted the urge to check in with the guards on duty at his quarters. The monitors in front of him showed everything unchanged, and frequent poking of underlings just made an officer look nervous and weak. No one knew more about this ship than he did, and he wouldn't be able to locate the bio-cylinder without a hands-on search of his quarters. The kid was safe and sound. The itching in his palms was just leakage from the bond. He shot T'Pol another exasperated look and bent back over the console.

At least the upgrades to _Ghengis Khan_ had gone well. By improving their control systems he had been able to fine tune the NX class vessel's shield harmonics, achieving the 50% increase in efficiency that he had promised Sato - along with a minor decrease in power requirements. For the phase cannon upgrade, a complete rebuild of the cannons themselves had been necessary. Fortunately Defiant had the production capability to produce the parts they needed. After the new cannons were installed, massive new power conduits had to be run from the impulse reactor to each of them. It had meant four and a half days of backbreaking labor for the entire engineering departments of both ships.

But it was worth it to see the expressions on Sato's and Martinson's faces when they tested the new phase cannon on a nearby asteroid field. Mayweather, as always, revealed nothing. But Sato actually squealed with delight when a rock the size of an Andorian battle cruiser simply vaporized under the onslaught of _Ghengis Khan's_ new guns.

_"Are your shields up Captain Martinson?" Sato had asked over the main viewscreen in an innocent tone of voice. Tucker, standing beside Martinson on the Ghengis Khan's bridge, had felt his gut tighten. _

_"Yes, your majesty," Martinson had told her. "As per standard procedure during weapons testing." _

_"Good." Sato had smiled brightly. Then she turned to her helmsman and said, "Lock phasers on the Khan. One third power. Five second burst. Fire." Tucker winced despite himself at the look of shock on Martinson's face. An instant later the NX warship rocked violently as she was smacked by twenty-third century firepower. _

_"Well, Tucker?" Sato gave him a flat look. "Did your shield upgrades work?" Tucker was already bent over the engineering station, checking in with every department on the ship. In a moment he straightened up to attention. _

_"Yes, your majesty. All shields are still at full strength. No damage reported" He hoped urgently that the beads of sweat on his forehead could not be seen from the view screen pickup. _

Tucker shook his head and came back to the present. The royal enthusiasm over her new battle toys had distracted Sato from asking questions about any other modifications in the NX engine room. Just as Tucker had intended. Operating under his instructions, Hess consulted with her brother Eric and brought him a list of potential recruits. Tucker had pulled one of the younger lieutenants aside for a brief but sincere conversation. He offered him a choice – a position as the new chief engineer on the NX battle cruiser, with the full support of the third most powerful man in the empire - or the airlock.

With the example of his former supervisor's corpse in front of him to focus his attention, the medication to cure to radiation damage in his fist, a disassembled replicator in storage, and new shielding for the warp core - along with the promise of additional technology in the near future - it didn't take him long to see the wisdom of pledging his loyalty. Rostov later assured him that careful bribes and arrangements had been made to ensure that the _Ghengis Khan's_ new chief engineer was constantly under observation. Any suspicious activity would result in immediate termination with extreme prejudice.

It was the best he could do for now. Later he would have to go back and solidify that situation, hopefully by placing people that he had personally trained. But for now it was imperative that he provide the imperial couple with some proof of solid progress if he wanted to keep his head on his shoulders. He glanced back at T'Pol to see her doing a one arm handstand. Tucker shrugged and went back to studying the details of the warp core diagnostic sub-routines. Before he could reproduce this engine, he had to fully understand how to operate and maintain it.

&

The approaching footsteps were unmistakable. T'Pol flipped over to her feet and waited calmly for Hess to slide the tray under the door. Although the controller for her collar was in Tucker's possession, she had been strictly ordered to maintain a minimum 1.5 meter distance from the door while being fed. It was T'Pol's fixed intention to convince her mate that her attitude had changed, and obedience was an important part of her plan.

The Human eyed her warily as she pushed the tray of food roughly through the gap under the door, causing her plomeek soup to slosh over the edge of the bowl and upsetting the tea mug. T'Pol made no complaint, merely squatting to re-set the mug before all of the tea could escape. Hess snorted and started to turn away.

"Has my mate eaten?" T'Pol asked mildly. She noted with carefully hidden satisfaction the way Hess's shoulders tightened at hearing Tucker referred to this way.

Hess half turned and growled, "None of your business, Vulcan. Eat your slop and be quiet."

"It most certainly is my business," T'Pol retorted. "You speak with typical illogic. My life depends on his, and he has been neglecting his health significantly of late. He skips meals, and he is working entirely too many hours." Hess half stumbled and spun again, this time completing the turn to face T'Pol.

"Like you care?" Anger darkened the Human woman's face. "Missing a few meals won't kill him." Hess sneered.

T'Pol repeated patiently, "Again, my survival depends on Tucker. I am not concerned that he will starve. Rather, I am concerned that sleep deprivation and lack of proper nutrition may impair his ability to function. With Cole plotting against him, and Sato placing high expectations on him, it is important that Commander Tucker be fed and maintained in optimum condition. Otherwise he could make mistakes. In this situation, mistakes might prove fatal."

Hess paused and her brows pulled together. She opened her mouth briefly, then closed it and marched off. T'Pol sat cross-legged and started eating her evening meal with contentment. It was agreeable to find that her mate's techniques were quite effective. Hess, her rival, would consider the matter and realize that T'Pol was correct. Tucker was working too many hours and was not eating properly. Since Hess was devoted to Tucker, and desired to take him for her own mate, she would inevitably embark on a campaign to persuade Tucker to delegate more and pay more attention to his health. If necessary, Hess would recruit other members of the engineering crew to assist her.

By recruiting Hess, T'Pol was able to turn her rival's own affection for T'Pol 's mate against her. Thus, Hess would soon be using all of her abilities to persuade Tucker to spend more time alone in their quarters with T'Pol, where Hess would not interrupt them. And where T'Pol would be able to maintain closeness with her baby.

T'Pol sipped what was left of her tea and considered the complexities of Human strategy. Most intriguing.

&

The comm buzzed, interrupting Travis in mid word. He suppressed his irritation and pressed the switch. "Yes?"

"Admiral? We have a subspace hail from Captain Martinson."

"I will take it here in the Ready Room," Hoshi instructed her. She transferred herself from Travis' lap and settled into the captain's chair just in time for the screen to clear.

Captain Martinson's albino complexion grinned out of the monitor in Defiant's ready room.

"_Your majesty, you ordered a report on field tests of the new upgrades? I am happy to report that they perform as well in battle as they did in testing. We encountered a triad of Andorian hunter scouts an hour ago. They had no idea what hit them. It was beautiful." _

Hoshi lounged back in her chair like a lazy cat and glanced over at Travis. "Do you have recordings of the fight?" Mayweather wanted to know.

"_Of course, admiral,"_ Martinson assured him. _"I knew you would want to examine the data, so I sent a compressed packet along with this transmission. We also collected samples of the debris for in-depth analysis of the damage. As soon as that is complete we will forward the results as well."_

"Good, do that," Travis told him. "For now, give us a summary."

If possible, Martinson's grin got even wider. He absently brushed the silver hair back from his forehead and began, _"We dropped out of warp at the edge of the Cagara system. Recent intel indicated a possible rebel base on the fourth moon of the second gas giant, and Starfleet Command ordered us to make a recon. The three scouts were waiting for us when we passed the inner edge of the asteroid belt."_ He stopped and chuckled. _"They came at us from behind – two from below and one from above, in a standard triangular flank attack."_

Travis mused, "Hunter scouts are over-engined for their size, if I remember correctly. Dual forward disruptor cannon. An ordinary NX class would have been in serious trouble."

"_Yeah."_ Martinson's grin disappeared for a moment. _"We would have been, if it weren't for those shield upgrades."_ His lips quirked back up. _"Anyway, they opened fire simultaneously. Even with the new shields we took some slight damage, but nothing serious. Our gunner locked on the upper scout and fired once.... no more scout. Just shreds and shrapnel."_ Martinson closed his eyes and savored the memory.

Hoshi cleared her throat and his eyes popped back open. She gave him a significant look and he hurried on. _"Once the first scout had been destroyed, the other two split off in different direction and started evasive maneuvers. We pursued and smashed one enemy effortlessly. At which point the other turned and tried to ram us."_ He paused, obviously about to reveal something big. _"The scout ship locked in a collision course and dove after us at full impulse. My gunner scored a hit on their port nacelle, which deflected their trajectory slightly. But there was no time for a second shot, and no room to evade. They struck our ventral hull with a glancing impact at 0.83 impulse." _

Hoshi leaned forward tensely. "How much damage?" she demanded.

Martinson snorted. _"Interior furnishings were torn loose. Some minor injuries from crewmen being tossed around. We lost grav plating for two decks. And the showers went out in the enlisted crew quarters when the main water line burst. Oh, and we had seven. Count 'em, seven, sections of hull plating that needed replacing."_

"After a direct hit from a hunter class scout ship?" Travis felt his eyebrows climbing. "No wonder you were smiling about those shields."

"_By the way, your majesty,"_ he told Hoshi, _"If Commander Tucker is lonely for some feminine companionship, I am fairly confident that every unattached woman on the Khan is eager to make his acquaintance."_ The grin returned. _"I overheard a couple of my bridge crew talking. With his scar, they didn't think Tucker was too handsome the first time he came over. But now they think he might be the prettiest thing in the quadrant."_

Hoshi giggled and Travis chuckled. He told Martinson, "I'll pass that along to him. But it will be some time before he gets the chance I'm afraid. We need to get every other ship in the fleet upgraded. He might be just a little bit occupied for a while."

"What about the rebel base?" Hasho wanted to know.

Martinson waved a dismissive hand. _"Easy meat."_

"Well done, Captain Martinson. Keep up the good work." Hoshi smiled brightly at him. "You and your crew have earned your Empress's approval. I am ordering commendations for all of you."

Martinson stiffened to attention and saluted. _"We live to serve!" _

&

The Kumari drifted silently under cloak. All non-essential systems were powered down – both to avoid attracting attention and to minimize interference with their monitoring equipment.

Despite having a recently installed cloaking field, courtesy of their Romulan 'allies', Captain Shran had ordered the Kumari into the cover of a debris field. It was a leftover patch of material from the early days of the universe that had somehow escaped from a nearby nebula. But it was useful for offering concealing shadows.

Commander Talas interlaced her fingers and leaned back in her chair as she listened to the subspace conversation between the Human ships. She watched with resigned patience as her husband prowled around the bridge, opening and closing his fists angrily while the Human captain boasted of killing three Andorian ships and one of their strongholds. When the Humans laughed Shran's antennae darkened to midnight blue and he nearly smashed his fist through the guardrail. She could see his lips moving while he cursed silently, but he made no sound to contaminate the recording. Once the transmission ended he cut loose. Talas nodded tiredly and waited it out.

When her husband finally ran out of breath Talas asked, "So how do we kill this Tucker?" He pulled up sharply and looked at her, his anger being pushed aside by the prospect of something useful to do. Just as she had known it would be.

"He's impregnable aboard that new flagship," Shran started pacing again. Talas sighed and got up to pour him an ale. He took it absently and let her push him into a chair without really thinking about it. She got herself a glass and sat down across from him while he continued thinking out loud. "The more scans we take of that monstrosity, the more I am tempted to believe that it really did come from some future time. No race in known space could have crafted that thing. Not even the Xindi."

"Speaking of which..." Talas started to ask.

"No." Shran sighed. "No chance. We sent envoys. We showed them. We literally showed them pictures of what the Terrans were and what they had done here. We proved to them that if they don't act, sooner or later they will have to fight the Terrans when they move into Xindi space. But they are too arrogant to see the danger. They truly believe that they can defeat the Terrans on their own. So they see no advantage to helping us now. Their Council voted unanimously against us."

"And the Klingons are too busy tearing themselves apart over their own squabbles," Talas said in disgust. "So that leaves us with the Romulans. Lucky us." She looked at Shran. "You know they are just Vulcans who smile when they backstab you, instead of keeping a straight face while they insert the knife. How long will it be before they turn on us?"

"Not until the Empire is too weak to offer serious resistance to their invasion," Shran assured her. "And by that time we will be fortified and ready to defend our own territory. They will be too busy subduing the Humans and the Vulcans to bother with us for at least two generations."

"You hope," she told him with a straight look.

"I hope," he agreed. "But right now hope is all we have to cling to. With these new upgrades, even hope is starting to look thin. We have to eliminate this Human engineer, this Commander Tucker, before he has a chance to make any more improvements. Somehow we need to smuggle a surgically altered Vulcan operative aboard. But how?"

"Never work," Talas dismissed it with a hand wave. "Even if we could smuggle someone onto that ship, which we can't, their scanners would spot a Vulcan instantly. You think they are going to let anyone but Humans on that thing? Not likely."

"If we could only get a Betazoid to work with us," Shran said wistfully, and took a sip of ale.

Talas winced. "After the Terrans found out what they could do, I doubt there are a hundred thousand Betazoids left in the galaxy. The few that are still alive are keeping their heads down and passing for Human. Who can blame them?"

Shran sighed and nodded. "But we need a volunteer. Someone who can easily be altered to pass for Human. And we need to arrange for them to get close enough to Tucker for a suicide strike." He rubbed his forehead in pain and took a deeper gulp of ale.

Talas said thoughtfully, "Remember when that NX was here? They sat next to Defiant for five days. Transporter activity between the ships was almost constant." She gave him a significant glance.

"Yes..." Shran straightened hopefully. "If they repeat that process, especially if they start doing more than one ship at a time, who would notice one more technician suddenly working in the NX engine room?"

"Then, when Tucker comes over to work his magic..." Talas trailed off and saw Shran start to smile.

"Now all we need is a volunteer." He said thoughtfully.

"There will be no lack of volunteers," Talas told him confidently. "With all the fighters we have whose entire families were destroyed by the Humans, I'm sure we won't lack for someone willing to die as long as he can take a ship full of Humans with him."

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

**Payment **

**By Blacknblue (aka Bluenblack) **

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

**Note:** Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

**A/N:** I don't know if I am the first to bring this subject up. But it does seem unlikely to me that Vulcan eyes would be well adapted to seeing clearly through water or fog.

_(Warning: This chapter contains a scene of violence with adult subject matter. Most of this story is fairly tame, actually, despite being set in the Mirror Universe. However this chapter addresses some adult issues including sex and domestic violence. The people of the Mirror Universe are not the same as the characters in the RU. Think of them as identical twins, who have been raised by different parents under completely different conditions. Life is hard where they live, and some of them are not very nice people. You have been warned.)_

* * *

Chapter 14:

The smoke was noxious with the stench of smoldering insulation, burning lubricant, and scorched blood from beings that used iron, copper, manganese, and several other minerals for oxygen binding. The ceiling of the bunker had caved in across two thirds of the area, and bodies in various degrees of dismemberment were strewn over consoles and sprawled across the floor. Soft shadows drew a merciful veil over the scene, as the only light came from the few scattered emergency lamps that had not been shattered by the torpedo blasts.

The mercy was short-lived. A lance of white light stabbed through the smoke and danced over the carnage, pausing only fitfully to touch a corpse or a broken console. A cautious figure followed the lamp's beam, stepping through the broken doorway. He turned sideways to avoid the tip of a broken roof beam and slid into the center of the room. The figure moved forward in a slow crouch. He stopped near the center of the room and reached for something on its belt.

"Kumari. Thyren here. In the control center. All dead, massive damage. Nothing to salvage here. Are you still reading those life signs?"

"_Affirm. One reading, weak. Interference is too strong to determine species. Probably farther back inside. Can you proceed safely?"_

Thyren turned the lamp toward the back of the room. "The rear exit seems clear. I will make the attempt. Please maintain a transport lock, if you don't mind."

"_Not to worry. If you get caught in a cave-in, we promise to dig you out as soon as the evening meal is finished." _

"Thank you, Commander," Thyren replied dryly. "Such loyalty warms my antenna." He closed the communicator and eased his way gingerly toward the pile of debris that only partially blocked the rear exit doorway. Careful maneuvering got him through the mess without injury, although his uniform would never forgive him. Thyren quickly abandoned his futile effort to brush off some of the filth and concentrated on examining the passageway.

The narrow corridor ran straight back into pitch black darkness. The floor sloped gradually downward into the fractured rock of the tiny moon. The entire base had been carefully burrowed out beneath the rim of an impact crater in an obviously ineffective attempt at camouflage. The control center that Thyren had just left had originally been embedded halfway up the side of the crater wall, just above the launch bay where the Hunter-Scouts were stationed. The newly augmented weapons of the Human warship had collapsed the walls of the launch, leaving the overhead control center perched precariously in open space.

Personnel and supply storage would be located in the rear, somewhere back there in the blackness. Thyren felt his antenna pull back and draw down toward his scalp. Darkness didn't ordinarily bother him, or any other Andorian. But darkness thick with the stench of death was a different matter.

There was no escaping it. He took a deep breath and reluctantly moved forward, following the blinking light on his scanner that told of a possible survivor.

&

Jupiter station was busier than it had been in decades. The empress's own flagship hung majestically in space nearby - within range of her 23rd century transporters but beyond the grasp of lesser equipment. Two NX class warships rotated escort duty at all times, holding station keeping positions above and below _Defiant_ with their shields up and their weapons primed to full power. Three full squadrons of scout craft patrolled the Sol system following an interlocking grid pattern, and no unauthorized craft got with half a light hour of _Defiant_ without being vaporized.

On the station itself, engineering crews worked themselves to the point of collapse around the clock, installing the upgrades that Tucker had developed. In the two weeks following confirmation of the battle-worth of the Tucker improvements, five more ships had been modified. The _Colonel Green,_ the _Patton_, the _Geronimo_, the _Alexander_, and the _Cromwell_ had all been retro-fitted and sent back out to seek battle. They, along with the _Ghengis Khan,_ were racking up an impressive string of victories. This provided a miraculous boost to morale, both among the civilian population and - far more importantly - to their Starfleet comrades.

Ordinarily the kind of brutal 24/7 labor being demanded of the engineering crews would have resulted in constant complaining, and in some cases open mutiny. But knowing what their work was accomplishing made it more endurable. In addition, some of the personnel from other departments even started recognizing and acknowledging members of the various engineering crews in passing. In fact, it was no longer unheard of, at least on some ships, for an engineering tech to be invited to sit down and share a meal with crewmembers from other departments. Rarely, one of the captains themselves had been known to drop into the engine room for a brief check on progress. Heady motivation indeed.

Tucker wiped sweat out of his eyes and pointed to the diagram on the display. He told the assembled group. "See that junction? Right there is the splice point. Don't try to tie in the power conduit any farther along or you will overload the-"

"_Commander Tucker to the bridge!"_

He sighed and hit the button. "Acknowledged, on my way." Tucker turned to face the techs from _Quantrell_. "I'll send someone over to pick up where I left off. Meantime, keep looking at the diagram and think about the options. I know you've modified your standard systems from what this diagram shows. You had to have modified it if you're still flying, since the book specs are pure shit. Be thinking about the adjustments you'll need to make."

He turned and headed for the exit, waving Hess over along the way. He could feel T'Pol's eyes boring a hole in the back of his neck, the way they always did whenever he spoke to Anna. Tough. She could just get over it, he had business to handle.

"Anna," he said as his second came over with a faint smile. "I need to head upstairs. Can you babysit for a while?" Tucker jerked his head in the direction of the visiting techs. "Give them the standard rundown on the cannon upgrades, and talk them them through the preliminary setup. By that time I should be back, if not before. Although I can't promise anything. You know what her majesty is like when she gets going."

"Sure thing," Anna said brightly. "Anything for you." She grinned and swayed over toward the waiting group, rolling her hips like an Orion dancer. Tucker abruptly jerked his eyes away and cursed silently to himself, all the while feeling T'Pol's rage building. This had to stop. One way or another, something had to be done. In a fit of overloaded frustration he snarled to himself, _Maybe I should just take Anna into the back room? _

A sudden shaft of agony made his knees buckle. Tucker grabbed blindly for the edge of the doorway to keep from falling. Hands caught him on each side and a concerned voice asked, "Are you all right, sir?" Tucker blinked away tears of pain and looked up to see the two door guards propping him up with worried expressions.

He pulled in a deep load of air and told them, "I'm fine boys. Don't worry. I've just been working too many hours, like everyone else, and I skipped breakfast. And lunch. Think maybe I better eat something." Their faces cleared and they both nodded. He pushed forward and made it through the door before Anna had time to notice anything and come running over. That would be the very last thing he needed right now.

_What am I gonna do?_ He thought in despair. _I don't want the Vulcan, I can't have Anna. And I wouldn't do that to Anna anyway. So now what?_ He coughed and rubbed his eyes, wiped his face on his sleeve, and straightened his back. The turbolift was just ahead. It wouldn't do for the empress or Travis to see him like this. _Crap. I'm so tired. It'd be so easy to just quit._

The bridge doors opened on the expected pair of phaser rifles. Lieutenant Commander Arvon was in the center seat, working over a PADD full of something engrossing. She barely lifted her head to tell him, "Welcome to the bridge, Commander Tucker. The admiral is waiting in the ready room."

Tucker suppressed an automatic twinge of concern and headed for the doorway. There was no reason to worry, everything was proceeding smoothly and on schedule. But a private consultation with Travis was never a comfortable situation, no matter what the circumstances might be. He presented himself to the admiral's personal bodyguards and waited for clearance. They eyed him resentfully and took an unnecessarily long time in scanning him. None of Mayweather's people had forgotten nor forgiven what happened to his last pair of bodyguards.

They finally ran out of excuses to delay him. The blond one with the broken nose keyed the button and announced Tucker's presence, receiving orders to admit him. The door slid aside and he was marched in between the two goons like a prisoner. Travis glanced up and murmured, "Have a seat, commander. We need to talk."

Tucker winced internally and settled himself into the visitor's chair in front of the desk. He idly wondered where Hoshi had wandered off to. It wasn't like her to be away from the bridge. _Maybe she's just off having a spa treatment or something,_ he considered. None of his business anyway. He needed to keep his mind on the matter at hand. Like getting out of there alive.

"Is there some problem, sir?" Tucker was reasonably satisfied with the steadiness of his voice.

"No," Travis told him, to his pleasant surprise. "To the contrary. Things are going better than expected. That's why I called you up here."

"Sir?" He was honestly confused, and showed it.

Travis smiled slightly. "With these upgrades of yours, commander, the rebels have been having serious trouble lately. Now that the Vulcans have started reporting back to their home world in significant numbers, we finally have enough reinforcements to put together a significant strike force. I've decided to take _Defiant,_ along with the upgraded NX cruisers and five Vulcan D'Kyrs, and make a direct strike on the Andorian's home system."

Tucker straightened with a lurch. "Admiral..." He stopped himself firmly and clenched his teeth.

Travis raised an eyebrow. "Say it, commander. Don't be bashful."

Tucker sighed. "I'm fairly confident, sir, that the entire Andorian system doesn't have anything that can scratch _Defiant._ At least not before we have time to get clear. But I can't swear the same about the other ships. The new shield upgrades are a lot better than the old configuration, but they won't stand up to ground based disruptor cannon. At least, not under sustained fire from multiple emplacements. Not to mention that once you get far enough inside-"

Travis raised a hand to cut him off. "Either you are giving me too much credit for wild courage, or not enough credit for intelligence. I have no intention of taking the task force all the way to Andoria itself. What we are going to do is penetrate deep into Andorian space, striking hard and fast at every vulnerable target along the way until we reach their home system. Then we will hit their main shipyards with everything we have. Once the shipyards are destroyed we will fall back."

Tucker let his breath out in relief. Travis chuckled quietly. "Calm down, Trip. This is _my_ plan, not Hoshi's." Tucker bit his tongue swiftly and firmly. "And I also have no intention of holding up the progress of upgrading the fleet while we carry out this attack. Which brings us to why you are here. What needs to happen for production to continue unhindered?"

Tucker felt a cold weight settle on his soul. _This is it then. Phase two_. He closed his eyes for a minute to think. "What we need, sir," he told Travis, "is to make certain that _Defiant_ keeps a full staff of experienced people first and foremost. That has to be the priority." Mayweather nodded agreement. "After that, I can sort through the leftovers and pick out the ones that will be staying with me on the station to do the upgrades."

"So you want to jump ship?" Travis asked him calmly, propping his chin on his fist. His eyes asked nothing, gave nothing, believed nothing.

"I don't see any other way to get the job done," Tucker said, truthfully enough. "Give me a couple of weeks and I can finish polishing Hess to take over as chief. But these upgrades are as much art as they are science. Truthfully, admiral, the standard specs for the NX aren't anything like the actual running configurations. Every ship in the fleet is different, and each engineering department has to cobble together their own version just to keep things running."

Travis leaned back looking irritated. "Now why would that be? That makes no sense at all. Explain."

Tucker opened his mouth and looked unhappy. He closed it and shifted on his seat, trying to think of a tactful way to put it. Travis wasn't interested in tact, apparently.

"I said _explain._"

An icicle rammed itself up Tucker's spine and he jerked upright. "The design engineers are incompetent." He added hastily, "Sir."

The admiral's eyes took on a speculative look. "Incompetent? Really? Then how do they keep from getting shot?"

Tucker's nostrils flared. "Because they are the sons and daughters of high level officers. Sir."

Travis nodded slowly. "I see. And I suppose that any attempt to report errors in their designs would be seen as insubordinate."

"Yes, sir." Tucker's eyes turned cold. "Any such form of disrespect is punished quite harshly. Sir."

Travis shot him a keen look. "No doubt. And since there really isn't any effective method for the engineers of various ships to exchange professional information, they can't share the options that they have worked out between themselves for working around the design deficiencies."

"That is correct, sir," Tucker told him stiffly. "As a result, each ship in the fleet is configured to different specs. Therefore, each upgrade must be adapted to conform to the modified parameters of the particular ship's existing systems."

"If the designs were adjusted to actually work in the field," Travis asked him, "so that we could mass produce ships that followed standard parameters, I presume that this would make a real difference in our response time to situations like this one?" He smiled ironically.

"Yes, sir," Tucker said, stone faced. "However, that will never happen. In order for the designs to be adjusted, the design engineers would have to leave their offices and actually enter an engine room. They would have to observe engines in real world operation. Perhaps even fly them for a while so they could observe their responses to various real world stresses. The high command would never permit their offspring to suffer such an indignity."

"No doubt you are correct, commander," Travis told him in amusement. "The high command would never permit it. In any case, you may have your two weeks. It will take that long to gather the Vulcan forces and coordinate everyone. In 15 days _Defiant_ will lead the strike force to Andoria. Make sure that your department is ready to operate without you. Dismissed."

&

The rage was becoming impossible to suppress. Every time he looked at that woman, she could feel the heat of his lust. It maddened her, rousing the murderous fury of her warrior ancestors. Tucker was her mate, and hers alone. Hess was going to die, as soon as T'Pol got the chance to touch her. All she needed was one chance, one instant to get within striking range of her throat. Tucker would object. Let him. He had no _right_ to look at the bitch that way.

T'Pol seethed and paced the narrow limits of her cage like a starving sehlat, resolutely keeping her eyes averted from her enemy. She would not give Hess the satisfaction of knowing how angry she was. Her child was locked away from her in darkness, and her rival walked free – taunting her. Her control frayed further with each intolerable day. This could not continue. _It would not continue._

To make matters worse, her mate was still overworking himself. If anything, he was abusing his body even more strenuously than before. He frustrated her by acknowledging the logic of her arguments in favor of reducing his workload, then ignoring her advice and continuing just as he had before. She had heard and observed Hess, Rostov, and other members of his staff proffer similar advice over the course of the last several days, to no avail. The man simply refused to permit himself adequate time to rest.

In T'Pol's extensive experience among Humans, a minimum of seven hours per night was required to maintain optimal performance. More was advisable when the Human was under stress or carried a heavy workload. Tucker restricted himself to five hours maximum, and steadfastly refused to consider more. T'Pol expected him to collapse at any moment.

She spent a portion of every meditation period attempting to assist him though the bond in purging the fatigue toxins, with limited success. However, her own stress level had reached the point where meditation was insufficient. She could no longer dependably attain the third level of introspection. Even when she did, T'Pol often found herself emerging from meditation with lingering emotional baggage still interfering with her thought processes. She was beginning to suspect that her daily attempts to bond with her baby were having a reciprocal effect on her physiology. In effect, she might be starting to display psychosomatic symptoms of pregnancy. She had refrained from reporting this to Tucker, in the interest of preserving the furniture.

She detected his presence approaching rapidly. Something important had happened. He was excited and dismayed at the same time. T'Pol leaned against the bars of her cage and focused on opening the bond. Travis... the station... _Defiant_.... battle.... D'Kyr.... _**Andoria! **_

She jerked back. They were taking the Defiant into battle against Andoria. Small wonder her mate was ambivalent. He was thinking of a Vulcan D'Kyr... no. Multiple D'Kyr ships. A battle group. Travis was organizing an attack force. She nodded. It was logical. Now that the Humans had enough upgraded ships to make a difference, it was reasonable to use them in a major strike before their enemy had time to develop effective counter-measures. It was also logical to include Vulcan battleships, both to test their loyalty after Sato's amnesty, and to provide cover for the upgraded NX cruisers.

Her mind started racing. He had been expecting this. She could tell that much. This, or something similar. In some way this fit into his plan perfectly. It was imperative that she convince him to reveal more details to her.

The door opened to admit her mate and she moved to the side of the cage nearest him. Her concentration and real need brought him to her side automatically, without thinking. He shook his head and asked her, in a sub-vocal whisper, "How much did you pick up?"

"Enough," she replied in a voice he could barely hear. "We are leading an attack on Andoria. This will mean even more work for you. Let me assist you. Please! I am your ally now. You must realize this." He snorted.

Tucker rubbed his eyes. "My head thinks you might be. My gut still says hell no. I'm going with my gut for a while yet. But you need to get out of here. Things are about to get hectic." He looked up and raised his voice to something closer to normal. "We are going to relocate to the station, while Anna takes over here." T'Pol felt an electric jolt energize every nerve in her body. "I'm gonna be running my ass off for the next two weeks shuffling personnel and making sure everyone knows she's boss. I won't have time to guard you, in either sense of the word. Can I trust you to stay in our quarters and not cause me any trouble?"

"Yes," she told him emphatically. "You can trust me."

He stared at her. "I mean it, woman. This is your first, last, and only chance. Screw this up and you go back into chains and stay there. Permanently. For the next fifty years. Got it?"

"I- got it," she promised. "I will obey your orders strictly. To the letter."

He sighed. "And use every excuse you can find to weasel out of the spirit of them." He gave her a dirty look. "Don't. Don't even think about it. Don't give me any grief of any kind. For two weeks you will be a little angel. You will sit in our quarters like a good girl. You can access the library. You can even have some crafts things if you want, as long as you get approval for them. But you don't leave, you don't call anybody, you don't _**DO**_ anything. Understood?"

"Understood." Her prompt response seemed to mollify him slightly.

"All right. Let's go." Tucker walked over to the nearest pillar and unhooked the massive hook that served the function of a key for the crude mechanical lock on her cage door. He inserted the key with both hands and pushed upward, then twisted it, then yanked it hard to the right. Finally he rotated it a full 360 degrees before dragging it back down again. The bolt holding her door shot back and she was free. Except for the Orion slave collar. And 17 watching Human crew members. And four visiting engineering technicians from the other ship. And the security monitors of course.

T'Pol pushed the door open and stepped out, only to find that both Hess and Rostov had move up to flank her mate with scowls on their faces. "What's going on, Boss?" Rostov wanted to know. He glanced suspiciously from her, to her mate's face, and back to her again. "You feeling ok?" Meanwhile, Hess stroked the butt of her dagger and eyed T'Pol's throat wistfully.

"It's all right," Tucker turned to reassure his second and third in command. "We got new orders from the admiral. Heading out soon, and it's going to mean some personnel shuffling." He jerked his thumb at T'Pol. "Figured we have enough to keep us occupied for the next few days. I want her neatly tucked away in our quarters where she'll be one less thing to keep track of." Their faces cleared immediately.

"Sounds damn good to me," Hess told them emphatically. "Not having to look at her is the best birthday present I could ask for."

Rostov nodded approval. "Makes sense. She won't go anywhere with your guards at the door. Your quarters are airtight."

"I'm taking her upstairs. While I'm gone," Tucker instructed quietly, "I want the two of you putting your heads together and figuring out who to keep aboard, and who we can afford to transfer to the station. Don't let it slip yet, but _Defiant_ is going to be running point on a battle group, so we need to keep a full staff of the best we have on the ship." They both nodded, with grim expressions.

"When and where, Boss?" Rostov wanted to know.

Tucker glanced around, then moved closer to them. He lowered his voice to the lowest end of Human hearing range, but T'Pol could easily pick out, "Andoria. Two weeks." The excited curses from both of them came clearly as well. "Now you see," Tucker went on, "why we are going to be even busier than we have been."

Rostov choked out a strangled laugh. "Oh shit, yes. Only puny weaklings need sleep or food anyway. We can handle it! We're Starfleet!" Hess snorted and shook her head wearily.

"You haven't slept since midnight, Charles," Hess told her mate softly. "You need rest even worse than we do. And knowing you, I doubt that you ate anything today either."

T'Pol clenched her teeth so hard that her jaw muscles hurt. _How dare she use his name?_ T'Pol felt her fingers curling into claws despite her best efforts to keep them flat at her sides. She could almost taste the Human's vile blood.

"She's right, Boss," Rostov affirmed. "If you go down, the rest of us are up a creek. It will take some time to get the prelims out of the way. You could at least grab a bite and catch a few winks while me and Anna do that part. If we have two weeks there is no reason to actually kill yourself. Cripple yourself maybe," he grinned mockingly, "but not actually kill yourself."

Her mate's shoulders slumped and she suddenly felt his fatigue crash into her like a battering ram. T'Pol's almost permitted her knees to bend under the impact. He truly was on the verge of collapse.

Tucker nodded. "All right. If it will get you two off my back. I'll take the Vulcan up to our quarters first. Then come back here and give you both a full briefing. After that I'll try to eat something and grab two hours. Satisfied?"

"No," Hess told him. "I want six hours." Tucker looked exasperated and opened his mouth, but she put her open hand over it. T'Pol's eyes glazed over with a green haze and she took a step forward. Rostov's head snapped in her direction as Hess continued, "Two hours won't even be enough for you to feel it. You need-"

"Boss!" Tucker glanced at Rostov, then spun to intercept T'Pol half a meter short of her prey. Hess snatched her dagger free and lunged in response to T'Pol's attack, only to find her arm deflected by Rostov. The two men managed to separate the women long enough for Tucker to bark, "That's it! Stand down! Both of you! _Now!_"

"You will keep your hands off my mate," T'Pol snarled. "You have no right to touch him. He is mine."

"Yours? You miserable-" Rostov grabbed Hess' knife wrist and twisted, forcing her to drop the weapon.

Tucker closed his fingers around T'Pol's throat and told her in a husky growl, "Remember what I said about chains again? Settle down. Right now. Or the next time you see our quarters, _or anything in it_, will be when you are dying of old age." Cold fear washed through and extinguished the flame of wrath instantly. He wouldn't. Would he? Could he truly be cruel enough to deny her access to their child? She looked at his eyes and decided the risk was unacceptable. She stopped struggling and stood straight.

"Anna." Her mate spoke coldly and firmly. "Attention. Now." He stared at her until she returned his look and flinched. Hess swallowed and assumed the stiffened posture of a Human awaiting inspection. Tucker looked at T'Pol and released her with a final warning glare. She didn't meet his eyes. He turned to face Hess and asked her, "Anna, why did you try to kill me?"

Rostov had turned and was dispersing the spectators who had gathered to watch the brief combat. At Tucker's question, Hess stiffened even further and drew in a sharp breath. "I didn't. I would never... I didn't mean to..."

"You knew," Tucker went on remorselessly, "what would happen to me if she died. But you drew your weapon anyway. Haven't I been good to you Anna? I tried to help you. What is it you want? The chief engineer's job? It's yours. I'll stay on the station. You can take _Defiant_ out."

"Noooo." Hess emitted a disgusting whine and her complexion paled noticeably. "Please. No. I never meant to... hurt... you. I'd rather die first. You know that. You have to know that. I wasn't thinking, that's all."

"You weren't thinking." Tucker sounded disgusted. "Well, that's fine. Your not thinking would have killed me just as dead as if you did it deliberately, wouldn't it? Just like your not thinking will get you killed just as quick as if you cut your own throat deliberately, won't it?" She flinched. "What about Michael?" He tilted his head toward Rostov, who had returned and was listening silently. "What will you tell his family when your not thinking gets him killed someday? Hm?"

"I'm sorry," she hung her head.

"Sorry doesn't cut it, Anna," Tucker snarled. T'Pol tensed at the anger in her mate's voice, but also began to feel a trace of satisfaction. Tucker was actually angry with Hess, something that T'Pol had not witnessed before. "Sorry wouldn't help me while I was on the floor, screaming because my mind was being ripped open. Would it now?" Hess looked at him with tears in her eyes. _"WOULD IT?"_

"No," she whispered.

"Sorry didn't save your ass when you didn't pay attention that time, and ended up burning Archer with that arc welder, did it, Anna? You didn't mean to do it, did you Anna? You just didn't think to look around and see who might be standing there. Right?" Tucker's nostril's flared. Hess let her shoulders hunch slightly and nodded. "It wasn't being sorry that kept Archer from slinging your thoughtless ass out the airlock, was it Anna? It was me. And now here you are again, trying to _kill me_. But not on purpose. You just didn't think."

Hess stood trembling. Rostov stood nearby, with no expression on his face. The rest of the engineering staff, including the visitors, studiously kept themselves busy and avoided looking in their direction. They well knew that when a senior officer was in the mood to dress somebody down, any innocent bystander who caught his attention, no matter what the reason, was likely to crash and burn right along with the victim.

"Go to your quarters and spend the next 24 hours _thinking_ for a change, Anna," Trip ordered in a voice heavy with weariness. "Or at least try to. Then we will have a talk." She looked at him and opened her mouth. "Go!" Hess buckled as if he had punched her and fled at a run. Tucker looked at Rostov and growled, "Any comments?"

"No, sir," His third in command replied, eyes forward.

"Good," Tucker said. "I'm going to take this one," he gestured to T'Pol, "and then take a break. Call me if anything happens." Her mate grabbed her sleeve and led her out of engineering. The expression on his face dared anyone to speak to him. No one did.

&

Krasen remained still and kept his eyes closed. He had recovered consciousness 7.3 minutes previously, and the only sounds he had detected so far consisted of assorted beepings and clickings. These sounds, in conjunction with the distinctive odors in the air, informed him with a probability in excess of 98% that he was in a medical facility of some type. His last conscious memory involved falling and being pinned under collapsing rubble during the Human attack. Therefore, it was a virtual certainty that he had been captured and was being repaired aboard the Human ship in preparation for interrogation.

He could detect no voices nor footsteps within hearing range. Excellent. Any sickbay should contain ample means for self-termination, if he could move quickly enough to reach them before security arrived. Unless he was secured? Krasen carefully flexed his arm, leg, and torso muscles. He found to his pleased surprise that there was no feeling of constraint. The Humans had evidently underestimated his resilience. A mistake they would soon regret. It was unfortunate that he would not be able to take advantage of the circumstances to inflict some damage before he died. But injured as he was the idea was not feasible. All he could do was ensure that the Humans did not obtain any useful information from his brain.

He cracked his eyes open and felt surprise. Instead of the drab metallic gray of a Human starship bulkhead, the wall in front of his bed was a pale pastel orange. Orange? Not a color favored by Starfleet. Krasen tilted his head imperceptibly and his eyes popped open in astonishment.

A long row of bio-beds stretched the length of the room, each surmounted by sophisticated diagnostic equipment. A well scrubbed floor was inlaid with the insignia of the Andorian Guard. Through a viewing window, two of the blueskins conferred over a readout while a third prepared a hypo. At the moment Krasen was the only patient in view. How could he be here? It must be a trick. His face settled into grim lines. It had to be a trick. The Humans knew he would be able to detect false Vulcans, so they decided to make him think he was aboard an Andorian ship. Then he would speak freely. Otherwise they knew the chances of extracting information from a Vulcan were slim.

It would not work. Did they think the insurgents were such fools? He snorted and started to look around for something sharp. Failing that, a drug cabinet that might hold a sufficiently powerful poison. If all else failed, he could take one of the disguised Humans hostage and force them to kill him in order to free their comrade.

&

T'Pol entered their quarters in compliance with her mate's abrupt gesture. He paused to bark a brief series of commands to the door guards and followed her inside. T'Pol turned to glare at Tucker and began venting, "You had no right to allow her to touch you! As my mate you owe me loyalty-" The backhanded blow sent her spinning across the room and into the bulkhead. A bare 0.8 seconds later, her mate's body impacted her at high speed and drove the breath from her lungs. His fingers closed on her trachea and began to apply forceful pressure.

"Owe. You. _Loyalty?_" He bared all his teeth and drove his fist into her gut. With Tucker's hand closing off her throat T'Pol was unable to double over, and his hand held her upright despite her weakened knees. "You got one hell of a nerve, bitch."

Her mate's voice was shaking with rage. More importantly, the raw animal torrent of emotion that poured through the bond told her that she had finally pushed him too far. It was entirely possible that he was going to kill her this time. There was nothing in his mind but pain-filled rage and cold Human bloodthirst. Terror filled T'Pol. Their child could not possibly survive without her protection. Absolute submission was called for. Immediately.

"_I am sorry..." _ She could barely force out enough air to form the words. T'Pol concentrated on her end of the bond, opening all her shields wide and letting her fear flow toward her mate. She pushed it as hard as she could, trying to show him that she was truly fearful of his anger and willing to submit. It did not matter that she feared for their child more than for herself. The fact that she was afraid was what mattered.

The emotion was real and primitive enough to reach through his rage. The male animal brain sensed its mate's submission and started to cool off. Tucker's fingers loosened enough to let T'Pol gulp a few sips of oxygen. "I am sorry. I am so sorry. Please, don't hurt me. I am sorry." She waited. They were the standard pleas, and they had usually worked in the past when dealing with enraged Human males. Would they be enough this time?

They were. He dropped his hand and turned away with his head bowed. "I owe YOU loyalty?" Tucker started laughing. In all her years of living and working with Humans, T'Pol had never heard any of them voice a laugh containing so much pain. Something in it triggered an answering pain inside her. Tucker turned to look at her. She met his eyes for an instant and then looked away. She could not face those eyes. Not without getting sick.

"You enslaved me with this bond tighter than that collar you're wearing. Never bothered to tell me about it of course. You just kept it handy in case you needed to use me for something. Which you did of course. Use me I mean. Meantime, you left me down there in that radioactive hellhole when you could easily have gotten me out of there. But why should you? Remember?" He strode over and grabbed her jaw, forcing her head around. _"Remember?"_

She did remember. "I asked you to help me get a place on the bridge. You said, 'why would I do that?'" He sneered at her and turned his back again, pacing the length of their quarters. "Turn me into your own personal robot, leave me to burn and rot in the hellhole, program me to sabotage the ship, then leave me to take the punishment in the agony booth for your crime." He shook his head. "But that wasn't enough for you. No way. I was an annoying inconvenience. I had to be got rid of. So you arranged to have me murdered." He stopped. Then suddenly he slammed his fist into the bulkhead full force. Blood spattered around the point of impact. **"And you DARE to demand LOYALTY!?"** He spun around to impale her with a glare that ripped through her katra.

T'Pol dropped to her knees and bowed her head. "I regret what I did. I was wrong. I am sorry."

"Yeah." Tucker's voice cracked. "Sorry you got caught. I believe that much. No doubt you are sorry as hell that your plan didn't work. I believe that. Sorry that we Humans won the fight. I can believe that part. In fact, I can even believe that you are sorry about catching that bug and falling into early Pon Farr. I believe you are sorry." He turned around and started walking toward the washroom, pulling off clothing along the way.

T'Pol remained on the floor, unmoving. Tucker stopped at the door to the washroom, with one hand on the doorframe. He did not look at her. "I'm sorry too. Sorry as hell. If it weren't for you, I could be with a woman who chose me because she wanted to. Not because somebody held a gun to her head." He stepped inside and a few moments later T'Pol heard the shower start running.

She knelt for a while, remembering many things. Then she stood up and unfastened her coverall. Kicking her boots off, T'Pol shrugged off the coverall and let it fall to the floor in a casual pile. She slid her undergarments off and dropped them onto the coverall and walked to the washroom naked. _Cast out fear. Nothing can be done until one has cast out fear._

The door slid open quietly. Steam filled the small room and made it difficult for her to see. Unlike Human eyes, Vulcan eyes were not well adapted to underwater vision. Tucker was vaguely outlined behind the semi-opaque shower barrier. She forced her shoulders back and raised her chin. T'Pol took a deep breath to push her breasts forward and stepped up to open the shower enclosure. Her mate looked up from rinsing his hair in shock.

T'Pol told him quietly, "I cannot give you what you want. All I can give you now is everything I am." She filled her hand at the soap dispenser and began to lather his back. Tucker stood frozen while she worked. His dorsal muscles were tightly knotted, T'Pol noted. She gently kneaded her fingertips beneath the edges of his shoulder blades, across the tops of his shoulders, and alongside his spine. Slowly, her mate started to relax. He even sighed when she managed to loosen a particularly stubborn knot. But he said nothing.

That was fine with T'Pol. The less conversation, the less chance to provoke him. Long experience had taught her that in situations like this, talking with a Human male was usually a redundant waste of time. She switched the shower over to manual control and detached the fixture from its wall mount. T'Pol adjusted it to pulsate at high temperature and started raking it up and down the length of his back, rinsing the soap and massaging away the last of the tension. Tucker shuddered in pleasure. Suddenly T'Pol felt an extremely pleasant sensation shoot through the bond. Evidently feedback. Interesting.

She hung the spray head back up and started working her way down her mate's legs, carefully soaping and rubbing them from his hips to his feet. She worked her way down the back of his legs and up the front, meticulously avoiding his groin for the time being. Again she sprayed him down, once more enjoying his pleasure vicariously as the hot water sent waves of relaxation flowing through him. T'Pol repeated the process with his arms and chest, frequently making eye contact. Still, neither of them spoke. But her mate was definitely become aroused, and she noted with satisfaction that his gaze was roaming over her body endlessly.

Finally T'Pol knelt in front of Tucker and began to tenderly apply soap to his genitals, washing him as gently as she would have washed her baby. Tucker gasped and reached out to the handholds on each side of the shower stall for balance. His legs were becoming increasingly unsteady. T'Pol reached for the spray and set it to the lightest and slowest pressure, barely warm. She slowly rinsed him, quite thoroughly, and looked down to hide a smile at the sound of a barely suppressed whimper. Without looking up she opened her mouth and leaned forward. Tucker made a strangled sound and the metal of the handholds started creaking.

The bond feedback intensified tenfold. With each movement waves of ecstasy crashed through their telepathic connection, sweeping into T'Pol's brain and triggering an answering response in her own pleasure centers. As her brain absorbed the energy from her mate, instinctive reactions triggered and her mind drove the energy back toward her mate, amplifying his pleasure even more. His amplified pleasure, freshly heated by her mind, spun wildly through the bond again and seared her nerve endings with wild lust, activating even more pleasure centers in her brain. The energy of the loop built swiftly as she worked, while her mate's breathing became increasingly ragged and harsh. Finally he half-screamed, and the bond detonated in a blinding flash that both of them barely conscious.

Tucker slowly slid to his knees and they faced each other, gasping together. He raised his hand to brush back her hair. "You've done that before," he noted.

"Many times," she admitted. "But I have never taken pleasure from it before." He mate pulled her forward and rested his forehead on her shoulder. She reciprocated and they propped each other up until breathing stabilized.

"I owe you a back scrub," Tucker announced, to her astonishment. "C'mon, stand up." He began applying soap to her body, albeit in a less meticulous manner than she had. Tucker made no bones about using the soap as an excuse to let his hands wander, which T'Pol had no objection to. She was particularly gratified that he took advantage of her hair washing to make a tactile examination of her breasts. T'Pol was well aware that by Human standards, her mammary glands were attractively formed. She was also well aware that most Human males were fixated on that particular aspect of a woman's body. From the time and attention he spent on hers, she was confident that he found them satisfactory. A triumphant sense of satisfaction filled her at the thought of Hess, and her pitiful attempts to attract Tucker.

Eventually matters proceeded to the point of arousing her mate for a second time. T'Pol offered to repeat her previous service, but he refused. Instead he requested she turn around and bend forward, bracing herself on the shower walls. The position offered several advantages, but stability was not one of them. Nonetheless, T'Pol managed to set herself well enough and grimly waited. Aside from the Pon Farr, which she could not truly remember, she had never enjoyed mating. Not even when she had been called upon to assist other Vulcans in their Time. She emphatically had never enjoyed being used by Humans.

But there was no avoiding this. A Vulcan of either gender did not refuse one's own mate. It was simply not done. She had already dishonored herself very nearly beyond redemption. If she was ever to regain any shred of self-respect, and most especially if she was ever to be able to confer onto her child a sense of self-respect, it was imperative that she behave with honor toward her own family from this point forward. Tucker was her mate, her adun by the ancient laws of Vulcan. If he wished to mate with her, then her duty was plain. However distasteful she might find it.

He moved in behind her and stroked her sides slowly, drawing his hands down her ribcage to her hips. T'Pol shivered. At least the touch of his hands was not unpleasant. He ran a single finger down the center of her wet back, tracing a tingling path from her shoulders to the top of her buttocks. She closed her eyes and savored the feeling, letting it swirl across the bond and back into her mate. At the touch of her pleasure he moved forward and entered her in a slow, steady thrust. T'Pol tightened every muscle and gasped shrilly.

The sensation was like nothing she had ever felt before. It was far more than simply pleasure. The bond connection amplified itself in a positive feedback loop that reached critical mass in a matter of seconds. Instantly afterward, she felt the plak tau flare. _No! Not this!_ But nothing could stop it now. T'Pol dimly felt their bodies slide to the floor in a tangle of limbs. It was all irrelevant. Nothing mattered but the joining. Mind and body and katra. One mind, one body, one being. Individual awareness faded into a lightning-filled sandfire storm of lust, and ecstasy, and pain, and ecstasy, and joy, and ecstasy, and fear, and ecstasy, and rage, and ecstasy, and need, and ecstasy, and grief, and ecstasy, and shame, and ecstasy, and...

Fulfillment. Exhaustion. Sleep. Unconsciousness took them both, curled up naked together on the shower floor.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

**Payment **

**By Blacknblue (aka Bluenblack) **

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

**Note:** Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

* * *

**Chapter 15**

The door hissed open to reveal Anna Hess wearing a robe and a hollow-eyed look. She swallowed and stepped back without a word to let Tucker enter her quarters.

He gave the area a quick glance, naturally. No obvious signs of traps. The 'tricorder' he carried had insisted that she was alone inside. Tucker had taken the precaution of activating the weapon dampening field over her quarters before visiting – something he was not sure that Hess or Rostov even knew about. He _was_ sure that no one else aboard was aware that _Defiant_ had such capabilities. Most particularly not her gracious majesty.

As the door closed Tucker turned to face Anna and saw her blinking rapidly. "Thank you for coming yourself," she told him softly. "Whatever you decided, I wouldn't want to hear it from anyone else." Tucker heaved an exasperated sigh.

"You got any coffee around here, Anna?" he wanted to know in a normal voice. She gave him a tremulous smile and made a beeline for the replicator.

"Coffee. Columbian. Double strength. Hot." The cover slid up to reveal a tall mug. Anna scooped it up eagerly and carried it back to Tucker with quick steps. "Here. Do you want some sugar this time?"

"Nah. I got a little sleep last night," he told her. Tucker took a healthy swig of the thick brew while never taking his eyes off her. Anna's blond hair was uncombed and fell around her shoulders in a tangled waterfall. The dark circles under her eyes, pale cheeks, and trembling hands told him that she certainly hadn't done any sleeping the night before. That much was certain. "Let's sit down and talk."

She stood still for an instant, then nodded with a jerk. Tucker settled into her desk chair and Anna perched nervously on the edge of her bunk. Bed rather, Tucker reflected. These bunks on _Defiant_ were twice as wide as the ones on the NX class ships. He pushed the memories of last night to the back of his mind.

"Anna," he began, "You're the best I have, technically. By far. I meant what I said the other day. Rostov is close, but even he can't match you yet. But there is a lot more to ramrodding a department than just knowing the tech stuff. There's more to it than just knowing people, too. You have to be able to look ahead. You gotta-"

"I know, Commander," she interrupted him, sounding anguished. "I'm so sorry. There's no way I can tell you how sorry I am. Please, give me another chance. Break me down to Crewman and put me in the booth, if that's what I deserve. Just please, please, let me stay." She was wringing her hands unconsciously and tears started to form at the corners of her eyes.

Tucker groaned and rubbed his eyes. "I'm not gonna put you in the booth, Anna. I'm not puttin' anybody in the booth. If I had my way I'd blast that thing. So shut up about that foolishness."

She sniffed. "Yessir." He looked at her.

"You're stayin'," he told her. Joy lit her face. "But I'm not. I'm transferring to Jupiter station."

"No!" Anna lunged off the bed and walked on her knees around the desk to bury her face in Tucker's lap. "You can't! We need you! I need you! We can't do this without you!"

"C'mon." Tucker took her shoulders and gently pushed her backwards. "Straighten up. I have to. Travis is taking _Defiant_ into battle. But someone has to stay here and keep the upgrades moving." He lowered his voice to a faint whisper, sensor blocking or no sensor blocking, "You knew this was coming. It's time for phase two."

She shuddered. Her mouth moved silently, repeating his words. Suddenly she stood up in front of him. "Take me with you. Michael can handle engineering. He knows as much about _Defiant_ as anyone does. Plus he has the skills you said I don't. He doesn't make stupid mistakes."

Tucker felt tired and let it show. "I thought about it. But he just isn't good enough with people. And he doesn't have the tech skills. Even if I put him in charge, he would need you to prop him up or he would never make it." He shook his head. "You're the only option. But if you don't start operating with your head, instead of your gut, you are gonna die. I mean it, Anna. You will die, and you'll take the whole ship with you."

Anna started trembling. "Charles…" Tucker looked up. She stared at him for a moment, then moved forward and straddled his lap. He sat frozen in surprise for a moment, long enough for Anna to lean forward and kiss him. Tucker moved his hands to her sides, intending to push her away. Anna brushed her lips over his, planting feather light touches and licks. Then she pressed both lips against his and inserted her tongue into his mouth, playfully stroking it over his teeth and teasing the tip of his tongue with hers. Tucker's hands slipped down and around unthinkingly.

Without realizing it he pulled her closer. Anna closed her arms around his neck and pressed herself tightly against him, her warm breasts flattening against his chest while a soft moan worked its way out of her mouth. Her thighs tightened around his hips and she worked her pelvis up and down against his increasing hardness. Tucker's heartbeat was thundering in his head and her scent was making him drunk.

…_T'Pol's hair smelled of copper and musk…_

His guts knotted into a white hot flame of agony. Tucker stiffened and pushed her off his lap. "No. Anna, no. Stop," he gasped. "We can't. I can't do this."

"Charles," she panted, "I can't keep this inside anymore. I know you don't feel the same way, but I love you. I've loved you for a long time. I need you. Please… I don't expect you to love me – just let me be with you."

Tucker locked his teeth together and grimaced. "Anna. I can't do that to you. It wouldn't be fair to either one of us." He looked up at her in pain. "If things were different, hell yeah. There's no one I'd rather be with. But with the situation we're in I can't."

"Of course we can," she insisted. "Show me a senior officer in the fleet who doesn't have at least one mistress. Or if she's a woman, who doesn't have a lover." Anna untied her robe and let it fall, showing him the cropped t-shirt and panties that she slept in.

"I... can't, Anna," Tucker struggled to force the words out past the pain. "I," Tucker doubled over gasping, shoving Anna off his lap convulsively. He slid off the chair to the floor, clutching his belly in agony.

"Charles," Anna knelt beside him. "What's wrong?" Her frightened hands went over him in a quick check for injuries.

"Bond," he spit out between clenched teeth. "This Vulcan mate bond. I get close to another woman and it fires up." Anna's pupil's narrowed and her nostril's flared.

"I don't care about the Vulcan! Damn the Vulcan!" She lunged forward and seized him in her arms again. "Give me an hour to get you on life support and the Vulcan is history. I'll take care of you Charles, as long as it takes until you're well again." Her tears dripped onto his face as she kissed him. "I don't need an hour. Give me 45 minutes, that's all I ask," she said coldly. "You will never have to worry about that slut again."

"Can't," Tucker forced out. He concentrated on breathing for a while, then continued. "Don't dare. She's my marker buoy."

"What?" Anna looked taken aback. "What the-"

"Hoshi gave her to me to punish her," Tucker said. Anna nodded in agreement.

"Yes. We all knew that. So?"

"But she also gave her to me so I couldn't get away," Tucker informed Anna. Sudden understanding dawned on her face. "You see it now?" Tucker asked. "As long as I am tied to the Vulcan, where am I gonna go? I can't make a break for it, can I? How far would I get dragging a good looking Vulcan woman along, and not get noticed? And as far as Hoshi knows, once I get away from _Defiant_, T'Pol will try to cut the collar loose and then kill me the first chance she gets. So the Vulcan is Hoshi's way of keeping me on a leash."

"Shit! Shitshitshit!" Anna stood up and slapped the desk. "That… oh!" She turned and stalked the length of her quarters, turning back to assist Tucker in climbing up and onto the bed. "Rest here a while Charles. I'll bring you a cold cloth for your head."

"Thanks, Anna," he told her gratefully. He leaned back and closed his eyes, breathing heard as the pain in his midsection slowly subsided. He heard water running, then Anna's hands placing a damp cloth over his forehead and closed eyes.

Anna's soft voice asked, "Is there any way to block out this bond? Like dosing her up with drugs? We were going to block it with drugs for you when she was about to get executed."

"Not unless she's in a coma," Tucker snorted. "Or deep in a healing trance."

"What's a healing trance?" Anna's voice betrayed a twinge of sudden interest. Tucker considered removing the cloth to look at her, but decided that it wouldn't be worth the effort.

"It's something Vulcan's do when they're really sick or they have been hurt real bad," he told her. "They go into a deep trance where their mind sort of shuts down, except for the subconscious functions, so their body can put all of its energy into healing."

"Does this happen whenever they are hurt or sick?" Anna asked carefully.

This time Tucker did remove the cloth. "Don't get any ideas," he admonished. "They have to do it deliberately. It doesn't happen automatically. And they can only stay in it for a short time. Maybe a day at most before they have to come out again."

"But if she went into this… healing trance," Anna said with a gleam in her eye, "then we could be together while she was in it?"

Tucker rolled off the bed in a hurry. "No way, Anna. Drop the idea. It's too risky." He started to get nervous at the gleam in her eyes. "Way too risky."

"I'm not thinking about hurting her, Charles," she said innocently. "But what if she volunteered? What would be wrong with that?" She smiled and ran her tongue over her lips. Tucker sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, getting more uneasy by the second as Anna swayed across to take a seat at the desk.

"You see? This is what I was talking about, Anna," Tucker said angrily. "Lunging forward without thinking things through." He stood up and bent forward, grabbing her shoulders. "Listen to me, Anna. Listen close. I. Am. A. Dead. Man. Do you hear me?"

"I hear you." She met his eyes and kept her voice even. "You sure don't look dead to me. And anyone who tries it will have to fight their way through more people than I think you realize." He closed his eyes in real pain.

"What will it take to get you to look beyond the end of your nose, girl?" He released her and started pacing. "The only reason I'm still alive is because my counterpart in the other universe invented a lot of the technology that makes this ship run. So Travis and Hoshi figured I would have a better chance of getting inside his head than anyone else."

"Makes sense," she said. "So why would they risk losing you?"

"As long as I can stretch out my usefulness, they won't," he told her bluntly. "But that will only last as long as I can make myself look useful. And there's a time limit on that. The clock is ticking, and it's picking up speed."

"What do you mean?" Anna stood up suddenly. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean that I'm about to hit the wall on how far I can take things," Tucker told her. "I'm getting to the point where I can't follow his notes anymore." He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "The Tucker in that other universe had a master's degree in physics, a doctorate in warp theory, and another doctorate in multi-spatial mathematics. Whereas I had to drop out of my last year in public school because I got drafted." He looked at her. "See where I'm going with this? Everything I know about engineering I learned in the guts of an NX engine room. I just don't have the background training to take things much farther."

"But..." Anna struggled. "But they could let you take some training! It would be worth it to them!" Tucker sighed and shook his head.

"No, Anna," he told her grimly, "it wouldn't. I know too much." He walked over and took her arms again. "I was on _Enterprise_ before either of them. I watched Hoshi climb the ladder from able crewman all the way up to captain's woman. I know everything she did, and every _one_ she did, on her way up. I even screwed her myself once or twice, back when she was willing to put out for any senior officer that looked at her. You really think she's gonna let me keep breathin' one day longer than they need me?"

Her breathing sounded tight. "You can't just hold still for this."

"Why do you think I set things up this way?" Tucker stopped pacing and looked at her. "The plan is set up the way it is so that once things are in motion, it doesn't matter what happens to me or anyone else. The process will take off on its own, like a landslide. It's already started. You've heard the rumors."

"I know that," Anna was breathing hard. "But that's just a precaution. You can't tell me that you intend to sit back and let this happen without even trying to do something about it!"

"Oh, I'll try," Tucker said. "But the odds aren't good. It isn't just Hoshi and Travis either. I'm bucking the high command. You know damn well that those limp-wristed twits in R&D aren't gonna hold still for having a pack of roughnecks like us re-working the fruits of their genius." He grinned sarcastically. "They'll run squealing like little piglets to mommy and daddy. Then mommy and daddy will cry a river to Hoshi. Her supreme majesty can't afford to piss off the high command. She needs Starfleet. Especially after the way she strong armed the Imperial Council. So once I run dry on fancy ideas she will turn things over to R&D. Then I'll have an unfortunate accident."

"You don't have to-" Anna stood indecisively. Suddenly she moved in closely and spoke in a barely discernible whisper. "You could take _Defiant_ yourself. We could take the battle bridge and seal off the rest of the ship before anyone knew what was happening. Before they had time to react, they would all be dead. You could be the new emperor in an hour." She bared her teeth in a savage grin.

"No." Tucker spoke flatly. "I don't want it, Anna. The target on my back is big enough as it is. I don't get any sleep now. What would it be like then? Forget it."

"Charles!" She clenched her fists in frustration. "I won't let you die! I won't!" She pounded his chest. "You have to do something!"

He caught her hands. "I have something in the works. It's a long shot. But it's something." She sagged against him in relief and buried her face against his chest.

"What are you going to do?" she wanted to know.

"No," he told her. "What you don't know, you can' tell. When they sit you in that interrogation chair in the brig on this ship, the one with the scanner that can read everything from your blood pressure to your brainwaves, you will truthfully tell them that you have no idea what I am up to. Got it?"

She looked up and nodded, wiping her eyes. He smoothed her hair back and smiled slightly. "You're gonna be fine, Anna. Just remember to look, and think. Can you do that for me? Please?"

"I'll do anything for you, Charles." Anna's eyes looked into his soul and sent a shiver down his back. His belly started tightening again. Tucker closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"I'm going down to engineering for a while," he said. "Michael has alpha shift. I'm gonna drop in for the last couple of hours of alpha so he and I can go over the crew reassignments. You report for beta shift, ok?" He opened his eyes to see her nod. "I'll stick around for a while on beta, then turn things over to you. I'll come back later on and take gamma shift while you get some sleep. I'd like you and Michael to make time to get together as soon as possible to go over the reassignments. Make sure that you both agree. Sound good?"

"Sounds good," she told him. She offered a smile, which he returned.

Tucker turned to leave, but as he was about to reach the door Anna called out, "Charles." He paused and looked back quizzically. Anna stood facing him squarely with her legs firmly planted at shoulder width. Carefully and deliberately, she pulled her t-shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor. Tucker's breath stopped. Anna held his eyes while she ran her hands down her sides, pausing to cup and fondle her breasts briefly before dropping to slide her underwear down to her ankles. She kicked them aside and spread her feet apart, then stood there with her hands on her hips and a challenging look on her face.

"Remember, Charles," she told him softly. "Maybe I can't have you. At least not yet. But there's no reason you can't have me." Tucker's mouth moved but his tongue was too dry to make a sound. He reached back and blindly triggered the door as she approached him, stalking him as slowly and sinuously as any jungle cat. He stepped out into the corridor just as Anna moved into the doorway. She stood framed and smiling, in full view of the admiring door guards until the portal hissed shut again.

Tucker heaved a deep breath shook his head. The guards looked at each other and kept grinning, alternating knowing glances with each other and admiring looks at their boss. Tucker snorted and headed for engineering, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head again.

&

Anna stood looking thoughtfully at the door for several minutes after Charles had left. _I've got a lot of work to do._

First things first. She retrieved her underwear and and put it back on, then grabbed her robe. She went to the replicator and pressed several points around the cover in apparently random sequence. A soft click sounded and she lifted the cover off, revealing a thin recess containing a PADD. Anna extracted the PADD and replaced the replicator cover deftly, making sure that everything was aligned perfectly. She settled herself at her desk and began scanning her personal copy of the portion of _Defiant's_ database that dealt with Vulcan biology.

_Healing trance, huh? Well now, let's see what we can find about those._ Anna scanned through the index and was pleased to find an extensive list of references. _This looks promising. If she can go into this anytime she chooses to, all I have to do is convince her that she wants to do it._ Anna put on a feral smile. That shouldn't be a problem. All she would need was a lever. Everyone had a lever. Human or alien, everyone had a vulnerable point. Everyone, of every race, had something that they wanted or something that they feared. _All I have to do is find something that the Vulcan bitch wants, or wants to keep safe, badly enough to be willing to do anything I tell her to do._ Anna leaned forward and started taking notes.

&

Travis Mayweather reached over and clicked off the monitoring device. He rubbed his upper lip thoughtfully and leaned back in his chair.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

**Payment **

**By Blacknblue (aka Bluenblack) **

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

**Note:** Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

**Dedications:**

This seems like a good time to offer some long overdue recognition to various people. First off, thank you to **Rigil Kent** who inspired this story in the first place. Not only did he instigate the whole idea, but his stories about space battles and intrigue have provided me with a how-to manual. Next, I want to thank **2Distracted**, my cohort in writing the _Lerteiran Chronicles,_ and in my opinion the best fan fiction writer on Earth, bar none. She smacks me back into line when I start to get excessive, and forces me to think about the details. **Linda** (aka **Bineshii**) my first beta and cheerleader, who more than anyone else is responsible for the deluge of semi-literate dreck with which I have flooded this site. I also steal her ideas on a regular basis. If it weren't for her, I would still be lurking. If you are looking for somebody to blame for my writing, blame her.

Then there are the ongoing march of others like **Asso**, the Italian wild man who used his medical expertise to advise me on how to use a transporter to commit murder and get away with it. Plus helping me come up with the main plot for another story I am writing. **DinahD**, who scolded me into transforming Hess into a person instead of a stereotype. **Transwarp** who checks my math. Plus a crowd of other folks too long to list who have offered suggestions, useful criticism, and simple encouragement, including everyone who has taken the time and trouble to comment here. It's the only pay we amateurs get for this, but it's enough. So this is for you folks.

* * *

**Chapter 16:**

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 14 DAYS, 3 HOURS:**

Tucker moved along Jupiter Station's Grand Entrance Hallway with an impatient stride. His six man honor guard, required by tradition as well as pragmatism, stretched their legs to keep up without compromising their commander's dignity and breaking into a jog. Like most engineers, Tucker had small patience with what he regarded as useless formalities. But the empire's rules and regulations were set in stone. When assuming a new command there were ceremonies and rituals to be performed, and that was all there was to it. Never mind that the emperor's consort expected three month's worth of work to be finished in two weeks. Tucker was about to take over management of the construction yard. Therefore he had to waste precious time posturing and strutting. He snorted in disgust.

The station's chief administrator, Captain Wasoon, waited at the far end of the main hall surrounded by his aides. They all, like Tucker, were wearing the obligatory dress uniforms and decorations demanded for the occasion. "_Why couldn't we at least do this downstairs, in regular clothes?"_ Tucker growled to himself. "_That way, once this farce is done I could just go right to work."_

The Grand Hall, designed and constructed for just such ceremonial foolishness, rose overhead at least six meters to a peaked cathedral style ceiling. Scented fountains... "_Fountains! Of all the stupid, wasteful..."_ lined the sides of the huge hall, sending their graceful arcs of water through rainbow colored lights. Flowering plants from all over Earth were scattered throughout the area at strategic locations. Their eye-hurting riot of glaring color was a sharp contrast to the black onyx floor and the genuine white marble walls and ceiling. At the far end of the hall, where Tucker's new C.O. waited for him, a huge copy of the imperial globe was inset into the wall in solid gold, pierced by an equally huge dagger of solid platinum. The entire room represented, in Tucker's opinion, altogether the most asinine example of imperial excess in Terran space.

His little group pulled up sharply in front of the waiting brass. Tucker smacked his left shoulder sharply with his right fist and intoned, "Commander Charles Tucker reporting for duty, sir!"

Captain Wasoon had the look of a man who had just swallowed a bad piece of shrimp. Unhappy, but not quite sure what to do about it. He looked Tucker up and down, ignoring his bodyguards. "So I see, Commander. Tell me, what exactly do you expect your duties to be? Her majesty's consort was somewhat vague. He merely said that you would be in charge of upgrading ships, but he declined to specify exactly what the limits of your authority would be."

Tucker stifled a sigh. _"About what I expected. A political appointee, worried about someone moving in on his little kingdom. Naturally. How else would he end up with this plum assignment? A captaincy inside the home system doesn't go to just anyone. I wonder whose nephew he is?"_

"Sir," Tucker began tactfully, "I anticipate spending virtually all of my time in the actual construction areas, barring the occasional necessary visit to the design offices for as-built modifications-"

"What's that?" Wasson interrupted him suddenly. "Design offices? You are not a design engineer. What would you be doing in the design offices? Those areas are off-limits for anyone except licensed designers."

Tucker gritted his teeth. "Sir. I would not be doing any designing as such. I would merely be reporting any changes that we might be forced to make to the original design-"

"What? Why? You should have no reason to change anything!" Wasson told him indignantly. "Those designs are perfectly fine just as they are!"

Tucker couldn't completely hold back the growl. "If the designs were perfect... sir... there would be no need for her majesty to order an upgrade. Would there?"

Wasoon deflated instantly. "Oh. I suppose not." He shook his head. "But still... To allow access to sensitive areas to unqualified personnel... I must confirm this with Fleet Command on Earth."

A red haze descended over Tucker's vision. "With. All. Due. Respect. Sir." He breathed heavily. Tucker's bodyguards glanced at each other and moved in closer, eying the lower ranking officers who stood behind Wasson. The officers in question, two lieutenants and an ensign, shifted nervously and backed up a step. The only person seemingly unaware of impending doom was Wasoon. "My orders come direct from the Empress herself by way of Fleet Admiral Mayweather. Do you wish to defy the direct orders of the Empress?"

Wasoon flinched. "No. No, of course not." He firmed his jaw. "But I will require prior notice before each visit to the design wing in order to arrange for a proper security escort."

Tucker closed his eyes and started counting. "As you wish, sir. I will also need unrestricted access to all supply stores, and full priority rights on power. In order to meet the specified deadline, we will-"

"_What?"_ Wasoon screeched. "Out of the question. Who do you think you are, Commander? You may have been granted an important assignment, but you are still only a starship engineer, and don't forget it. I command this station, and I will make the determination about what supplies you need and what power you use. Is that understood… _Commander?_ You possess neither the training nor the experience to be entrusted with unrestricted access to the resources of this station. For me to allow such a thing would be an act of utter irresponsibility."

Tucker gave up. He opened his eyes and told Wasoon, "Captain Wasoon. My orders come directly from Admiral Mayweather himself. If you choose to defy Admiral Mayweather, it's your funereal. I refuse." Tucker pulled out his communicator and hailed _Defiant_. In a moment the communications officer on duty had transferred him to Her Irritated Majesty.

"_Tucker. What is it? I'm busy." _

"There is a holdup here, ma'am. Captain Wasoon refuses to grant me full access to the facility on the basis that I am not qualified."

"_I see. Stay where you are. Travis will be right there."_

&

Sato punched the comm button in disgust and signaled for Travis to report to the bridge. A moment later the ready room doors opened and her consort/bodyguard/de facto co-ruler stepped out, wearing his usual quiet smile. This time it irritated her almost as much as Tucker's call. The man never revealed _anything_ unless he chose to. She firmly squelched the response though. It would never do to show anything but cool control on the bridge – past episodes notwithstanding.

"Travis, we have a small issue on the station." She filled him in rapidly. "I know what I think, but I want your input before I take action."

Admiral Mayweather twisted his lips and gave a slight shake of his head. "Wasoon is a first cousin to the brother-in-law of Councilor Lopez. By his record, he's never been accused of either imagination or technical ability. I'm thinking the same thing you are. Besides, you did promise him a reward."

Sato snorted. "So I did. I promised him a captaincy. But then again, those upgrades have been making a life and death difference in the war. I think commodore would be appropriate, don't you?"

Travis nodded with amusement in his eyes. "It always helps to give the troops something to shoot for. It also helps to set examples in front of them - both kinds."

"We agree then," Sato nodded. "Get over there and straighten things out. We don't have time to waste while idiots stand around muttering about regulations."

Mayweather bowed. "As my lady commands."

&

Wasoon fidgeted. "I'm certain once I explain, the admiral will understand. I am simply following procedure." Tucker ignored him. His bodyguard, deducing the most likely outcome of the next few moments, followed suit. Wasoon's junior offices wore expressions ranging from uncertain to sick.

Less than five minutes later a transporter whine heralded the arrival of six bodyguards bearing phaser rifles. They spread out in a menacing circle and proceeded to secure the area with brutally efficient dispatch. They didn't kill anyone, but only because no one offered so much as an eyeblink's worth of objection to anything they did. Finally one of them spoke into a communicator. The transporter sounded again. Admiral Travis Mayweather materialized, surrounded by five more bodyguards. He strode over to the waiting cluster of Starfleet personnel, followed by his guards.

"Wasoon," he said abruptly. "Is what Tucker told me correct?"

"Well," The smaller man hemmed and hawed while Mayweather's face tightened. "In a sense, yes. But you see, I was simply following proper protocol, Admiral. I'm sure you understand."

"Perfectly," Travis agreed. Wasoon disappeared in a nimbus of blue light accompanied by the high-pitched buzz of a 23rd century phaser. Mayweather replaced the weapon on his belt and snapped, "Attention!" Every man present snapped stiffly erect.

"Commander Charles Tucker," Travis walked over, pulling something out of his pocket. "For meritorious and exceptional service to the empire, you are hereby awarded a field promotion to the rank of commodore." He pinned the two extra pips on Tucker's collar. He stepped back and saluted ironically, fist to chest. Tucker blinked and responded in kind. "That should also take care of any similar problems you might have with idiot ship captains. Her majesty will pass the word to Earth that you are autonomous out here, and to give you anything you ask for as soon as you ask for it. Is there anything else you need?"

Tucker swallowed. "Not at the moment, sir. Not that I can think of."

"If you do think of anything else, say so," Mayweather told him. Tucker nodded dumbly. Travis turned to leave, then paused and turned back. He stepped closer and spoke in a toneless voice, not soft, but not loud either. "Tucker, understand something. I don't care about your background or paper credentials. All I care about is getting the job done. As long as you continue to get the job done, your position is safe with me. So do whatever you have to do to get the job done. Use all of your resources," he paused and added with emphasis, "even the ones you might not like. Whatever it takes."

"Yes, sir," Tucker said suspiciously. "I always do." Inwardly he wondered what caused this conversation.

Travis regarded him. "Think about it. Where else am I going to find someone with your skills who doesn't want my job?" Tucker watched thoughtfully while Mayweather walked back to the open area and signaled for beam up back to Defiant. The rest of his bodyguards followed close behind - leaving the bemused Tucker to deal with a badly intimidated trio of junior officers, and a brand new station to command where he didn't know any of the personnel and only half of the facility locations.

Tucker shook his head and started introducing himself, thinking sourly, _"I have fourteen days to get Defiant ready for battle, and finish the rest of the upgrades for the ships that are already docked. Just think, if T'Pol had been only a little bit smarter in her planning, I wouldn't have to deal with this. Blasted Vulcan incompetence." _

&

Minister V'Lar looked pensively out the window of the council chambers overlooking the main city square. It was nearing sunset, and lengthening shadows from the taller buildings blotted out much of the central park. However, shops around the perimeter of the square were still active and would remain so until well after midnight. Terrans were once again occupying the empire's barracks at the edge of the city, and the Humans rarely emerged from their dwellings during the day. But after sundown, their superb darkvision and high tolerance for cool temperatures made them excellent nightstalkers. Once the day's heat had subsided the Humans would emerge and crowd the commercial district, seeking surcease from their boredom. Despite many Vulcan's personal distaste for Humans, few of her people would refuse their money.

The door opening behind her was completely expected. From the footsteps she deduced that Syrann and Kuvak had arrived. When she heard them arranging chairs, V'Lar turned from the window and moved to join them at the conference table. Kuvak announced abruptly, "To date, 3,491 former rebels have accepted amnesty. We have re-possessed 11 combat capable ships, of which there are three Surak class cruisers, one D'Kyr, three standard fighter units, two D'Vahl, and two of the older style survey craft with disruptors retro-fitted. All of the remaining ships, which include a substantial number, are either cargo transports or small personal craft such as shuttles."

"Are the cargo ships combat capable?" V'Lar wanted to know, interlacing her fingers primly on the table in front of her.

Syrann winced. "Theoretically, yes. But to do so would be equivalent to suicide. They are neither structurally designed, nor sufficiently powerful, to survive the rigors of combat."

"We may lack the option of refusal," V'Lar said bluntly. "The empress expressly declared that every Vulcan ship capable of mounting a weapon must be available. As a choice between sacrificing those cargo ships - and sacrificing 100 Vulcan lives for every Terran who has died in this rebellion... which will you choose? How many thousands of Terrans have already died? Do you think they will be in any mood to distinguish between those who were killed by Vulcans and those who were killed by Orions, or Andorians?"

"No." Syrann closed his eyes in pain. "The un-mastered passion of those young ones has brought disaster upon us all."

"It is a grievous situation, indeed," Kuvak noted. "But I remain agreeably astonished that we were given this opportunity. Mercy is not a quality with which Humans have ever been overly identified."

"Because we pleased the empress through our punishment of T'Pol." V'Lar looked down. The other two remained tactfully silent. A moment later she continued. "I have given this matter further consideration. It is possible that my logic is biased. I welcome critical input from both of you on the soundness of my reasoning."

"Certainly," Kuvak told her.

"I am here to serve," Syrann agreed.

V'Lar took a deep breath. "It come to me that we may well have been remiss in our response to the situation."

Syrann spoke up. "How so? The choice of punishment belonged to her mate, by ancient law. With Commander Tucker being non-telepathic and incapable of shielding himself, severing the bond would have been unacceptably hazardous. There was nothing more we could have done."

"What damage has T'Pol inflicted on her helpless mate since we left him there, defenseless against her telepathic attacks?" V'Lar wanted to know. "Even if she has not, what treatment options do the Humans offer for damage caused by telepathic assault?"

Syrann hesitated. "I perceive your point. Ethically, perhaps we should attempt to check the situation. Or at least make the offer."

"It will also," Kuvak suggested, "provide an opportunity to update our information at a point closer to the center of power."

"Another valid point," Syrann agreed. "Our agents have been necessarily circumspect lately. In fact, a substantial degree of their attention has been focused on identifying and neutralizing any remaining rebel infiltrators before they can cause further trouble. It would be intolerable if a Vulcan saboteur were able to inflict noticeable damage after we have been granted this amnesty."

"When you speak of neutralizing, I trust you do not mean that our agents are wasting valuable time and resources taking prisoners," V'Lar said grimly.

"No," Syrann assured her. "We initially debated," he glanced at Kuvak, "whether it would be beneficial to extract information. However, we decided that presenting the Humans with intelligence extracted from Vulcan prisoners would remind them of our youngster's peccadilloes. Ultimately the slight potential advantage, if any, of such knowledge would be more than offset by the increased friction that it would provoke."

"I concur," V'Lar nodded emphatically. "We should strive to avoid doing anything to remind the empress that any Vulcan has ever been anything but absolutely loyal to the empire. We will face inevitable issues with members of Starfleet, of course. But as long as the empress and her consort are satisfied, we should be able to redeem ourselves by the time this insurrection is put down."

"I am reminded," Kuvak spoke up. "Do you have the revised calculations?"

"Yes," V'Lar told them both. "I remind you both that prior to the acquisition of _Defiant_, the probability of success for the rebellion - at least in part - was on the close order of 50.31%. Following the capture of _Defiant_, the rebellion's chance of success dropped to 42.63%. It has since been declining steadily following the amnesty and return of our expatriates. In addition, Commander Tucker's upgrades to the weapons and shielding of the NX battle cruisers has had a profound effect on the empire's effectiveness in combat. Our latest calculations indicate an 84.55% probability that the empire will achieve total victory within one Terran year, and a 91.21% probability of total victory within two years."

The men looked thoughtful. "Obviously then," Syrann offered, "the Council's decision to suspend neutrality and execute the rebel liaison officers was the correct one."

"Indeed," V'Lar said.

&

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 14 DAYS, 1 HOUR:**

"Michael. Come over here a minute." Anna Hess waved a casual arm without really looking up from her monitor.

Rostov glanced over and called back, "Be right there." He wiped off his hands and climbed down from the upper catwalk briskly. "Whatcha need?"

"I'm trying to confirm these maintenance specs," she told him. "But the energy usage levels don't average out right. Or at least, they don't average out the way these specs say they should for the way we have been operating."

"Oh." Rostov glanced around quickly, then reached over her shoulder and made a quick correction to the figures on her screen. He turned his face away from the security monitor and whispered, "Now they do. Just forget you ever saw that. The boss had a special project. My screw up there, I forgot to wipe the energy monitors." He looked chagrined.

Anna looked curious, but nodded. "Sure," she told him out loud. "That explains it. Thanks." Rostov grinned and went back to his injectors. Hess turned to the monitor with a crease on her brow. _"Now what kind of special project would Charles be doing to need that much power? He wasn't doing any welding or cutting. He wasn't blowing up any asteroids. The only other way he would need that much energy would be if he was converting it into matter. What was he replicating?"_

She finished the maintenance report and hurried through the rest of the personnel schedule. Charles was due back from the station in another three hours, and she wanted to have all of his paperwork completed for him by then. Of course, she supposed in all but name it was actually _her_ paperwork now. Or would be as soon as _Defiant_ left Jupiter Station. A chill ran up her back - half terror and half anticipation. Her, chief engineer on the empress' own flagship. She smiled to herself. Then it faded. She would trade it in a heartbeat to have Charles back, and that Vulcan whore never to have been born.

Personnel scheduling wasn't as bad as she expected. Charles had already picked out the 'problem children' to take with him when he left. Supply requisitions were almost irrelevant, with _Defiant_ able to replicate almost anything that the crew needed. The only thing that might prove useful would be stocking up on some raw materials, which would save time and energy. It was faster and easier to convert things from one form to another than it was to create them out of raw energy after all. Anna paused as she finished the requisition request and look thoughtful. She reached for the controls and started scanning through the most recently accessed replication templates.

She stopped in surprise. Why would Charles be replicating a bio-cylinder? Was he culturing some kind of micro-organism? A bio-weapon maybe? She sat back and wrinkled her forehead. It would make sense. A final, scorched earth option just in case the empress turned on him. Maybe it was something that he found in the classified section of the database. There was no telling what type of fancy bio-weapons the people who built this ship could produce.

But whatever Charles had made, it was a weapon of some type. No doubt about it. That was why he had ordered Michael to keep his mouth shut. _"But why not me? Why Michael? Didn't he trust me?"_ She started to feel a bit hurt, until it hit her. _"Idiot. I'm the obvious choice. So I'm the first one they will drag in for questioning."_ She felt like slapping herself.

Well, whatever. She still had more work to do than she had hours to get it done. The frequency resonance for the backup dilithium crystal matrix was .00003 microhertz out of tune. The problem was, her tuning instrument had a margin of error of .0001. The currently active dilithium matrix was tuned within specs, somehow, so obviously it could be done.

Anna sighed and stood up. The answer was somewhere in the user manual, no doubt. Like every other user manual she had ever read, it seemed to have been composed by an illiterate Klingon trying to write the Andorian language using Tellarite glyphs. But there was no help for it. She picked up the hated book and started thumbing through it, with her teeth locked.

&

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 13 DAYS, 23 HOURS **

T'Pol sat cross-legged on a cushion in front of Tucker's desk, which coincidentally happened to be located near the air vent containing her child. She kept her eyes closed and her breathing steady. The maternal bond hummed softly and safely. Her daughter was asleep, just as she should be. A fetus at this stage would properly be spending nearly all of her time resting. The child's nervous system was still far too primitive to form anything like a thought. But her tiny contentment warmed T'Pol's katra.

The minutes trickled past like drops of water from her foremother's meditation fountain. At 1100 hours precisely T'Pol opened her eyes and stood up smoothly. It was time to change her daughter's nutrition pack. She glanced at the control panel for the doorway, noting that the locking indicator still glowed the proper color, indicating that the anti-monitoring measures were in place. Moving casually over to her mate's computer terminal, she tapped in a brief message to Rostov requesting permission to order a morning meal for herself. Since she always ate at 0400, which Rostov knew, the replicator activated 29 seconds later to deliver a tiny square unit designed to be attached to the side of the bio-cylinder.

T'Pol moved in absolute silence to the replicator and retrieved the nutrition module, then proceeded toward the air vent on soundless feet. Even to Vulcan ears her passage would have been undetectable. Although her mate had faith in the effectiveness of his anti-monitoring devices, She saw no logic in taking unnecessary chances. Installing visual monitoring equipment in Tucker's quarters would present serious logistical challenges, but T'Pol had personally worked out at least three different methods whereby audio monitoring could be accomplished. She was determined to minimize any and all risks to her child.

The latch cover opened easily to her deft touch. She swung the cover aside and reached into the darkness. The panel that covered her child's bio-cylinder was indistinguishable from the other sections of ductwork. T'Pol pressed the coded pattern, twice at the upper right corner, twice at the bottom left, once at the upper left, once more at the upper right. The cover rose up to reveal her baby's shelter. For a breath she paused with her hand on the outer surface, savoring the intensified contact. Then she moved quickly to detach the depleted food source and insert the new module, forcing down any trace of fear that Rostov might have compromised the contents. She had no control over her mate's human staff, and no choice but to accept his judgment regarding them. She re-sealed her child's hiding place and placed the spent module in the replicator, pressing the disposal key and watching it disappear in a glittering flash. Her baby's food requirements were taken care of for the next three days.

T'Pol settled back down in front of the air vent and resumed meditating, happily sinking back into rapport with her offspring.

&

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 13 DAYS, 22 HOURS**

Doctor Kim told the squirming crewman calmly, "Hold still. This isn't going to hurt." He received a look of blank disbelief in return, but the young man braced himself and locked his jaws. Kim sprayed the split skin on the Security crewman's cheek with a topical analgesic and watched him suddenly relax. "Told you so," he said with a smile. Then he picked up a wound sealer and got busy reconnecting the torn flesh. "How did this happen, anyway?" Kim asked over his shoulder.

Amanda Cole replied coldly, "Training exercise." The crewman flinched and avoided looking at his superior officer. Doctor Kim refrained from commenting, simply moving along to the patient's arms and applying disinfectant and sealer to the cuts and burns along the crewman's arms, and the deep lacerations around both wrists.

"Stretch out, face down," Kim instructed. The crewman gingerly obeyed, flicking nervous glances toward Cole all the while. When Kim lifted the examination gown it took all of his self-discipline to maintain a poker face. He had seen this kind of thing before, more than once. He had even been on the receiving end one time during medical school, when he encountered an especially carnivorous professor. But Kim had seldom seen a whipping applied with such calculated viciousness. The neatly aligned hatching of slicing strikes began at the crewman's neck and continued in an unbroken pattern all the way to the top of his thighs. Dried blood caked the man's entire dorsal area, masking the swelling a bit. But nothing could hide the stink of advancing infection.

"A training exercise," Doctor Kim repeated her explanation. He shook his head in disgust. "This man will need to remain here for at least two days under observation."

He never saw her move. When Kim remembered the incident later, the part that kept returning to haunt him was the fact that he never even saw her move. Suddenly Cole was in his face and two cold edges were pressing against his carotid artery and jugular vein. Kim's eyes blinked downward to see that Amanda Cole's prosthetic attachment had extended in claw mode, extruding a pair of ragged edged blades that interlocked like a lobster claw. Kim's throat was pinned between the jaws of the claw and Cole's face was drawn tightly into a humorless smile.

"It was a training exercise," she hissed. "I do not coddle my people over minor bumps and bruises. Disinfect his scratches and send him back to his duties. Now."

Kim swallowed and whispered, "Acknowledged." Cole withdrew slowly while her smile gradually took on a glint of satisfaction. The doctor turned back to his patient and went to work. He made a point of injecting the man with the largest dose that he dared of a slow release pain killer. Then he took his time with the repairs, making sure that each wound was individually cleaned, disinfected and sealed before moving on to the next. By the time he was two thirds finished Cole snarled, "That's enough. You're done."

Kim stiffened and looked up. "Commander, this is my sickbay. I am responsible to the Admiral and the Empress directly. I answer to them, not to you. If you insist on demanding that this man be discharged without proper treatment I have no authority to prevent you. However my duty will require a complete report to Admiral Mayweather regarding this man's condition, as well as your-"

He saw stars and dimly felt the deck hit his back as he landed. The sound of Cole shrieking something dimly penetrated the ringing in his ears. When Doctor Kim's vision cleared, the wounded crewman was gone and Cole stood over him. The claw attachment had withdrawn. Now he found himself look into the discharge end of a projectile weapon that extended from the socket on the end of Cole's arm. She trembled with feral rage.

"_Don't… you ever… DARE… to… threaten… me… again…. Fool!"_

Kim neither breathed nor moved while the wild woman backed away. Her breathing gradually slowed until she reached over with her good hand and twisted a control. The gun barrel retracted and a cover slid into place over the end of her prosthetic attachment. Cole continued to pin the doctor with a homicidal stare as she backed away through the sick bay doors.

Kim swallowed hard. Well, this settled one question. He struggled to his feet and moved painfully over to the drug supply safe. At the rear of the bottom shelf was the Bejoran serum that he had been replicating as a combination bribe/peace offering to the Engineering department. Kim had held off on making a decision about which faction to align himself with, or whether to align with either one, until he gained more experience with this crew. But after such an intimate interlude with Commander Amanda Cole, Kim decided that indecisiveness was no longer an option. He gathered up the ampoules and affixed them to hypo sprays. Then he dropped them into a small case and headed out for the engineering section.

The door guards eyed him with puzzled expressions and fingered their weapons uncertainly. "I'd like to speak to Lieutenant Commander Hess please," he requested politely. The guards glanced at each other, shrugged, and one of them passed the request along. In a moment he was passed through with strict instructions to proceed directly to Hess' office and touch nothing. He agreed immediately.

Anna Hess was sitting at the desk in the chief engineer's office when Kim walked in. She looked him over carefully and said, "Hello, Doctor. This is unexpected. If you need something fixed you could have used the comm."

Kim thought, _"Well, at least this one looks sane. Which proves nothing of course."_

He spoke in a soft voice, looking at the deck, "Commander, I was hoping you would have time for a short meeting. I promise that it will be worth your while. Is this area secure? I mean from monitoring?"

Hess looked intrigued. "Come with me." She got up and led him up a short catwalk stair, and then through a short maze of conduits and ductwork to a tiny platform hanging essentially in the middle of nothing. The acting chief engineer took a small instrument from her belt and worked some esoteric controls. Then she nodded and said, "It's clear now. We can talk freely."

Kim took a deep breath. Now or never. He passed over the pouch and told her, "The drug inside those hypos will reverse radiation damage. I know that all of you worked on NX class vessels before transferring to _Defiant_. You have to be suffering the effects. Those drugs will heal you."

Commander Hess stood perfectly still and expressionless. She held the pouch without opening it for a long moment. Then she attached it to her belt without looking inside. For another long moment she examined Kim with laser intensity while he squirmed. Then she asked him, "Why?"

He didn't pretend to misunderstand. "Would you believe that it's because I am a healer? And that healing people is what I do?"

"No," she told him bluntly.

Kim sighed and nodded. "It would be nice if we could afford to be that way, wouldn't it?" She didn't respond, so he went on. "I'm not good at cloak and dagger, Commander. I'm a lousy fighter, and I stink at strategy. If I had to play the game the way most people do I wouldn't last a week. That's why I went into medicine. A doctor isn't a threat to anyone's position. I'll never command anything, and nobody is afraid of me. Plus I'm useful no matter who is in charge. So I get to stay alive."

"That doesn't answer my question," Hess said impatiently. "Why did you bring these," she tapped the pouch, "down here? What do you want from me?"

"Protection," he told her simply. She tilted her head curiously. "I'm new on this ship," he offered. She nodded and he continued, "I have been watching and listening, same as anyone would on a new ship. Didn't take long to realize that everyone below the Admiral's personal guards are either with Engineering or with Security."

Hess smirked. "And you decided that you don't like Security for some reason maybe?"

Kim shuddered and looked around. He burst out in a loud whisper, _"That woman is crazy!"_ Hess chuckled. The doctor went on, ordinarily I wouldn't take sides, but Cole…," he shook his head. "Listen, Commander Hess. I can help you and your people. I can give you priority on treatment. I can provide you with favored access to the medical technology on this ship. But I can't do anything for you if that harpy swoops into sick bay one day and kills me in a sudden fit of madness."

Hess raised both eyebrows. "I won't even bother to ask what she did that made such an impression on you, doc. Knowing Cole, it could have been almost anything." She looked down for a moment. "Let me think about it for a while," she finally told him. "If this medicine works the way you say it does, we might be able to do business."

"It will," he promised. "I'm sure of it."

"What about the next batch?" Hess wanted to know. "And the one after that? And the next one? How long before you decide that you have baited us enough and it's time to slip in the poison?"

"It won't happen," Kim swore. "Look, I said I'm a lousy fighter. I never said I was stupid. Security might kill me. But Engineering can make it impossible for me to stay alive. Besides, without you my equipment doesn't work, therefore I can't do my job, therefore her majesty flushes me out the airlock."

"You do seem to have a firm grasp on reality," she told him drily. "Go back to sick bay. I'll be in touch." He hesitated, then gave her a final nod before leaving.

&

Hess watched the skinny little doctor walk away thoughtfully. As soon as Kim was out of sight Rostov stepped into view and spoke. "That was intriguing, to say the least."

Anna agreed, "Intriguing and potentially useful." She handed him the pouch, "How about you check these out and see how close they are to the cocktail that we have been taking? Meanwhile, I'll start digging into his record and family background. Look for some leverage."

"Sure thing," Michael told her cheerfully. "What do you think? Is he real?"

Anna ran fingers through her hair pensively. "He's new, and he's alone. And Cole is enough to rattle anyone. It's possible. We'll know more when we see what's in those hypos."

&

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 13 DAYS, 16 HOURS**

The bond warned her when he returned to the ship. T'Pol withdrew from meditation and prepared to greet her mate. In spite of his recent episode with Hess, T'Pol was determined to continue her ongoing efforts to improve her relationship with Tucker. After all, despite Her best efforts the bond had acted to prevent actual mating – which T'Pol found an agreeable surprise. Few bonds between full Vulcans would have been powerful enough to exert such influence. It was irrelevant whether the cause was Tucker's Humanity, or whether the two of them simply shared a bond of unusual strength. In either case, it meant that her mate would find it difficult to stray. That being the case, further confrontation on the subject of That Woman would be counterproductive. Her optimum strategy must be to encourage her mate to desire her company as well as her body. Repeated mating would strengthen the bond even further, while closer association would give her opportunities to seal his loyalty.

By the time Tucker opened the door to their quarters, T'Pol had arranged a tray with a mug of strong coffee and a selection of his favorite snacks. She had changed out of the standard engineering coverall that was her daytime uniform, and was wearing one of Tucker's undershirts. Following their first night of mating, he had provided her with such a garment in lieu of any alternatives. As soon as she had donned it and turned to face him, Tucker's reaction through the bond had convinced her to adopt it as her typical sleepwear.

Tucker stepped through the door and the full weight of his fatigue struck her like a blow. She put the tray down and met him just inside the doorway, taking his stack of PADDs and pushing energy through the bond to reinforce him. He gasped and shook his head, then looked at her in mild surprise. "I still can't get used to you doing that."

"You must rest," T'Pol chided him quietly, careful to avoid any tone that he might consider provocative.

"That would be nice," Tucker said. "Not likely, but nice." He walked tiredly over to the desk and sat down. She handed him the coffee mug and he upended it, pouring it down his throat like medicine.

"Let me help you." She walked behind him and began massaging his shoulders, feeling the hard ropes of muscle start to loosen under her fingers. For a brief moment he sagged back against the chair and let out his breath in relief. Then Tucker straightened and reached back for her wrist, pulling her around to face him.

"I need help," he told her bluntly, "but not that kind. If you're willing."

"Of course," T'Pol assured him. "I am ready to assist you in any way I can."

His eyes searched her face. T'Pol waited for him to make a decision and suddenly noticed his collar. Her eyebrow rose precipitously. "Yeah," he answered her look. "I got a field promotion." Nothing in his tone indicated pleasure. "I'm in charge of the whole station now. Just what I needed. An even bigger headache."

T'Pol's mind raced at warp speed. "This will provide you with many advantages. You will be significantly better equipped to protect our child. Also, your position in the new administration appears to be consolidating."

Tucker growled and stood up. "That's the problem." He paced the length of their quarters. "That's why I need your help."

T'Pol straightened. "Name it." He spun to glare at her, causing her to wonder what she had done this time.

"You went through advanced science training, right?" T'Pol blinked.

"I… attended seven years of advanced training at the Vulcan Science Academy in General Sciences, followed by ten years of additional training in Astrophysics before I was conscripted. After being chosen for Starfleet duty I was subjected to additional training at Starfleet Academy before being assigned as Science Officer aboard the _Skinner_." She watched Tucker's face darken as she spoke. When she finished he snorted and walked over to the washroom. The sound of running water was followed by the distinctive echo of her mate drinking. He emerged and fixed her with a determined look.

"I got drafted in public school," he told her. "I was seventeen. I never got the chance to finish my last year of training, but they figured it wouldn't matter anyway. Ya see, I was slated for either engineering or front line dirtballer. Either way I'd be dead before I was twenty so what difference would it make?" T'Pol's lips tightened. "But I fooled 'em," her mate snarled. "Didn't matter that I came from lowbrow stock. Didn't make any difference if my old man worked in a quarry and my ma slung drinks for a living. I could still make an engine sing. So they let me move up. And the sons and daughters of shopkeepers, and sometimes even the kids of low end government workers, stayed inside the Jeffries tubes and down in the injector wells and died. But I got out and onto the open floor where the radiation wasn't so bad."

"I am gratified that you did," she offered.

He looked at her "Bullshit." Tucker raked a hand over his face. "I taught myself," he told her. "I read the manuals. Then I looked at the engines and the instruments, and I saw that the designs were shit. So I studied what was really happening when I was off duty. While everyone else on my shift was in their bunks getting drunk, I was down in the hellhole. I compared the designs to the real world, and I saw what had been changed and why. I read every unclassified book in every ship's library I was ever posted to. I taught myself how to program. I taught myself how to tune a warp drive by feel. I taught myself how to be a damn good engineer."

"Yes, you did," T'Pol said carefully. "The proof of this is your current position."

"Not good enough." Her mate's shoulders sagged. "Not anymore. I can't follow the other Tucker's notes any farther. He had at least as much education as you do, maybe even more. He knew warp physics inside out and upside down. I can't even follow his explanations, much less the math. There's no way I can use his notes to improve our ships any farther." He looked up at her grimly. "Which means that my usefulness to her majesty is over."

T'Pol's blood froze for a moment. Then her brain resumed functioning and she recalled his earlier remarks. "This is why you asked for my help, and inquired about my training," she concluded. "You wish me to supplement your training with my own."

He sighed and nodded. "Can you teach me?"

T'Pol walked over and put her hands on his cheeks. "Of course, my adun. There was never any need to ask. You are my bonded mate and the father of my child. All that I have is thine. Including all my skills and knowledge. Show me what you wish my aid with, and we can commence the lessons as soon as you have eaten and rested."

"I can rest later," he said. Tucker picked up a PADD and opened a file. T'Pol firmly took it away from him and handed him a sandwich.

"Eat. Then rest. Then we study." Her tone was implacable. "I refuse to cooperate until you have consumed at least 1000 kilocalories and slept a minimum of four hours." He looked at her, looked at the sandwich, then gave in. T'Pol smiled internally and watched her mate eat. She finally had a useful lever with which to influence him. Knowing Tucker, it might not work consistently. But it was something at least. She moved behind him and resumed rubbing his shoulders. "Would you like to use my body before resting?" she offered.

Tucker stopped chewing and looked over his shoulder with an unusual expression. He hesitated, then answered slowly, "Not… right now. Thanks anyway." T'Pol nodded and continued the massage. Tucker resumed eating for a time. Then he said, "We need to come up with a new hiding place on the station for the kid. There's a safe in the administrator's office, but that's too obvious. Any ideas?"

T'Pol asked him, "Are there any diagrams of the station available?" He reached out with his free hand and tapped one of the PADDs. "In that case, I will study the station schematics as well as your alternate's notes while you rest."

"All right." Tucker finished his sandwich and drained the last of his coffee. Then he groaned his way to his feet and headed for the bed, with T'Pol attached to his arm for added support. She was honestly afraid that he was about to fall over, given the overwhelming sense of exhaustion that was coming through their connection. Her mate collapsed across the bed and made a feeble attempt to assume a standard sleeping orientation before subsiding into unconsciousness.

T'Pol unfastened his boots and began undressing him. It took longer than she anticipated, due to the fact that her adun was completely limp. Finally she had Tucker stripped to his underwear and tucked under the bunk's shimmering coverlet. T'Pol stood looking down at the man who had not only changed her life, but had forced her into an entirely new mode of existence. _"It is strange, but you were ultimately correct. I do regret what I did to you now. The more I learn, the more I realize that you are far more worthy of respect than any other Human I have ever known. I never suspected that your people treated their own lower classes so badly – in some ways worse than they treat us."_

She settled her emotions and turned back to the desk. Picking up the PADD Tucker had indicated, she began skimming it for information about Jupiter station, looking for potential safe spots to hide her baby.

&

The renegade Vulcan Krasen was finding life aboard the Andorian ship Kumari to be a sore trial upon his patience. On the one hand, discovering that the blueskins had risked themselves to rescue him from the debris of the rebel base left him with an honor debt that he could never realistically hope to repay. On the other hand, they were driving him _mad_. The seething turmoil of emotion that these beings operated in was equivalent to navigating through a perpetual sandfire storm. More than once he sorely wished that he had not survived the Human attack, just to escape the constant telepathic barrage. Only Shran's promise that they had a mission for him, a mission that would allow him to take vengeance for his murdered comrades, gave him the strength to continue. And now he was being summoned to meet with the two of them. Finally. By the deathgod, let it finally be time for action.

The two of them looked up when Krasen entered the briefing room. In the center of the table a hologram of the new Human ship was on display. Krasen felt his belly tighten. Could this be his objective? It was too much to hope for. Talas waved him to seat and Shran pushed a full glass of blue ale in his direction. Krasen had no desire for the beverage, but he was willing to do whatever was necessary to smooth the process of the briefing. He took a sip of the foul drink and offered an abbreviated smile. Indicating the hologram he asked, "I believe it is named _Defiant?_"

"Correct," Shran told him. "The flagship of the Terran Empire. Reported to have been taken from the Tholians, who reportedly stole it from the Terrans at some point in the future. Or so they claim. We also have reports that it was not taken from the future at all, but from some kind of parallel universe where the people are farther advanced than we are. Either way, it's by far the fastest and most powerful ship ever seen in known space."

Krasen nodded, never taking his eyes off the display. He started reading the data feed that scrolled along the bottom of the hologram. A cold chill ran up his back. "This information cannot be accurate. No ship could be capable of this."

"It's all accurate, I promise you," Talas told him insouciantly. "The information was taken from the ship's own specifications and transmitted before our agent was killed. Another Vulcan, if you're interested." Krasen's face tightened.

"I'm certain they were aware of the risk, and prepared for the consequences. Just as I am," he told her.

"An increasingly unusual attitude among Vulcans, since your government took the Empire's amnesty offer," Shran said bluntly.

Krasen looked down at the table and fought for control, feeling their eyes pinning him. "My people are led by ancient ones. Old and weak and cowardly. But we have a strong tie to custom and tradition. I am certain that most of my people do not approve of the Council's decision. They will obey, reluctantly, because as Vulcans we are conditioned to respect our elders. But they do not like it." He looked up and spoke through his teeth. "The Council accepted the amnesty because they believe that probability favors the empire. If they can be convinced that circumstances have changed, they will rescind this decision. Once the decision is rescinded, the Terrans will not make the offer again."

The Andorians traded glances. "Maybe," Shran told him. "Maybe not. Once thing is certain, if we don't do something about these new upgrades the question isn't going to come up. The empire will win without needing to make any serious effort."

"Upgrades?" Krasen sat up straighter and looked back and forth. "What upgrades?"

Talas smirked and worked a control. The hologram of _Defiant _was replaced by a head and shoulders representation of a Human male. The Human appeared to be in his middle prime years, and bore an obvious burn scar across the upper right portion of his face. "This is Charles Tucker. Your target. Former chief engineer of the NX-01 _Enterprise_. Now chief engineer of _Defiant_. Her majesty has publicly announced that he is in line to become head of starship research and design eventually."

Krasen leaned forward, memorizing the man's features. "Tell me more. I need details. Origins, personal habits. Friends. Everything you can give me."

Shran said, "How about this? When that NX cruiser came into the system and butchered your scouts, then proceeded to hammer your base into dust, what did you and your comrades think about it?"

Krasen sat back and looked thoughtfully at him. "We were astonished. Three scouts should have been sufficient to cripple a NX class, at minimum. Even if the Terran had been able to survive the fight with our scouts, it should most certainly have been so badly damaged that our base's cannon should have been able to blast it into scrap almost instantly."

"But that didn't happen, did it?" Shran prompted.

"No," Krasen said grimly. "The Terran cruiser came through the battle almost unscathed. When we opened fire with our cannon, they were ineffectual. Our shields should have protected us from their phase cannon. But…"

"But their cannon sliced through your defenses like a sword through snow," Talas finished for him. Krasen just looked at her. "Tucker is the man responsible for that. He developed the upgrades to the NX shields and cannon that let _Ghengis Khan_ wipe out your friends with impunity."

Krasen felt his blood heating. He clutched desperately at the Disciplines, fighting to maintain control. He spoke, with only a slight tremor in his voice, "Consider him dead. But I will only have one chance, and I will surely not survive. I will need as much information and preparation as you can provide."

"It will be our pleasure," Shran told him. "But there is another task to perform. We have learned that the Terrans are preparing a battle group for a major offensive."

Krasen clenched his fists and leaned forward to listen intently. His nostrils flared. "Where is the target?"

"We don't know," Shran told him. "That is the second task. The intended strike point is top secret. We have narrowed it down to either Andoria or Rigel."

The Vulcan nodded thoughtfully. "A successful strike at either system would deal a crippling blow to the rebellion."

"We need to know where to reinforce, and we need to know immediately," Talas told him. "Which is another reason that you are a good choice. Half of the task force is going to be Vulcan."

Krasen recoiled. "Are you… yes. Of course." He met their cold, assessing stares. "I see. I am disposable. No doubt you have other operatives pursuing the same objectives. The Terrans, not being idiots, will assume this is the case so if I am a traitor you have actually lost nothing. All I can tell them is that some rebel Andorians are trying to kill Tucker. No doubt they will find this far from surprising. But if I am not a traitor, a Vulcan will be especially well-equipped to penetrate the security around the task force preparations."

"I told you he wasn't stupid," Shran said to Talas. She smiled at him. The Andorian male turned to Krasen and informed him, "Killing Tucker is priority one. If you are also able to obtain the information we need, excellent. But Tucker must die no matter what. Your briefings will commence immediately, and continue for the next four days. At which point you will meet a ship for transfer. From there you will be transferred again to a Vulcan ship which is on its way home to accept the pardon. You will decide on your choice of weapon after your briefing is complete. We will assist you in obtaining whatever you need up to the point of insertion. After that you are on your own. Expect no rescue or assistance."

Krasen gestured assent. "Understood. Acceptable. Consider him dead."

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

**Payment**

**By Blacknblue (aka Bluenblack)**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

**Note:** Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

**A/N:** I do want to mention how flattered I am about something. Several people have started borrowing bits from my stories (e.g. crappy Vulcan night vision, T'Pol's clan name, etc.) for their own fan fiction. That, I think, is about the highest compliment that an amateur writer can ever hope to receive. Especially when some of the people doing it are better writers than me.

Anyone is welcome to use anything I invent in these fan fics as long as they don't make any money off it. I also appreciate it when they take the time to give me a brief nod. Otherwise help yourself.

ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 11 DAYS, 4 HOURS

T'Pol pressed her lips together. "No. The fault is mine, not yours, Charles. I am failing to make myself clear."

Tucker raised his hand and dropped the stylus in disgust. It clattered to the desktop and rolled off onto the carpet in their quarters, where T'Pol immediately bent and scooped it up. "How can it be your fault?" he asked tiredly. "I just don't have the background to understand this. It's hopeless."

She forcibly restrained herself from expressing any evidence of her own frustration. Instead, T'Pol moved up behind her mate and started stroking his chest in a circular motion while massaging his shoulder muscles with the other hand. "It is not hopeless, Adun," she insisted softly. "You have already continued your own training far beyond what was expected of you. And you did it self-taught, using only the materials available on your off-duty hours. Furthermore, you possess the same intellectual potential as the man who originated the designs we are studying. The issue is my failure to provide an effective bridge for you to advance your understanding of the theory behind them."

"But you do understand it, right?" Tucker leaned back and closed his eyes, soaking up her ministrations gratefully. T'Pol started using both hands on his shoulders and upper back. She had come to notice that this type of physical treatment provided her mate with significant relief from the stress of his daily duties, and seemed to assist him in sleeping as well. She briefly pondered introducing him to neuro-pressure. It was worth considering. The techniques were designed for Vulcans however, so she would need to cross-check to make sure that no damage would result.

"I believe that I am able to grasp the basic principles," T'Pol told him. "Some of the mathematics is beyond even my training. I did notice that at least three sections of the calculations were performed using Vulcan symbolic notations."

"Say what?" Tucker leaned forward suddenly. He bent over the plans that were spread out on the desk. "Which parts?"

T'Pol bent over his shoulder and pointed. "Here, here, and here. These symbols are Vulcan, used to represent values and constants used in multi-dimensional vector analysis calculations."

Tucker shook his head. "I wouldn't know the difference when the math gets that high. If you're sure then I have to take your word for it. I guess maybe he had his version of you helping him too." He ventured a tentative grin.

T'Pol felt something spark into life inside her. He had not offered her anything remotely approaching a smile since the mutiny. Perhaps her plan was working. _"I must not lose this. I must proceed with utmost care."_

"They were also mates, if I understood you correctly?" Tucker twisted the corner of his mouth and nodded. "In which case, it would be only logical for her to assist her mate. As it is logical for me to assist you."

Tucker's smile faded. "Right," he said coldly. 'When you're in a corner and have no choice." She dropped to her knees instantly and bowed her head.

"Again I acknowledge my dishonor. I will regret my behavior for so long as I live. If you permit it, I will spend the rest of my life attempting to atone for it." She kept her head down and eyes averted. After what happened the last time she defied him openly, she wasn't about to risk his anger again. The risk to their child if either of them died was too great. If both of them died, the baby could not possibly survive.

"If I permit it. Right." Tucker grunted. "Like I have a choice?" He stood up and headed for the replicator. "Coffee, Columbian, double strength, black."

"Do you believe that is is possible for a person to change?" T'Pol asked him, still kneeling.

Tucker paused with the cup halfway to his mouth. "What? I guess it might be possible, if someone really wanted to. In theory."

"I want to," T'Pol told him. "I wish to change myself. The woman that served aboard _Enterprise_ behaved in a manner that betrayed the values of her family and her people. She became so obsessed with her goals that she lost all sense of proportion. In doing so, she eventually reached the point of believing that any action was acceptable if the result was sufficiently desirable. She failed to cast out her fear and departed from the path of logic. She threw away her honor. I do not like that woman, Charles. I do not want to be that woman anymore."

He looked at her thoughfully. 'You'd make a hell of an actress."

"You do not believe me. Of course not." T'Pol closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I do not expect it. I anticipate spending years proving myself before you begin to reward me with even a small portion of trust." She looked at him again. "However, like you, I have no other option. My life is yours now. I do not intend to spend it on a chain or in a cage. I will earn your trust, no matter what I must do nor how long it takes."

"Nice speech," he said flatly. Tucker turned back to the replicator. "Grilled cheese." The device activated with its characteristic buzzing hum and his sandwich materialized immediately. Tucker slid the protective cover up and carried the plate back to his desk.

"Let's check something else for now." T'Pol straightened her shoulders and looked up. It was always agreeable to see his eyes darken when she did that. Tucker swallowed and quickly turned back to his coffee. Without looking at her he asked, "Have you made any progress on finding someplace to store Junior?"

T'Pol felt her nostrils flare involuntarily. Her mate continuously used that irritating appellation to refer to their child, knowing full well that she was female. She was very nearly certain that he only did it because he knew that T'Pol disliked it intensely. She held back any complaints in the hope that he would grow bored with the game. Otherwise he might well decide to continue using it after the baby was born, which would be intolerable.

"There are five potential locations aboard the station that might provide a secure hiding place for our child," she told him in a chilly voice. "None of them are ideal. It is unfortunate in the extreme that the station's command quarters are not one of them."

Tucker grimaced and turned his monitor. "Computer, show me a generalized deck layout for the living quarters aboard Jupiter station." He glanced at T'Pol, "Come up here." She obeyed. "Go over this with a fine tooth comb. Come up with different quarters for us, someplace that will be safe for the kid, and then cobble together an excuse that will fly for why I don't want to use the old ones. If we have to remodel, no problem. New commanders do that kind of thing all the time. Do that while I take a shower." She was so pleased with this assignment that his playful smack on her bottom didn't even faze her.

"And after that..." T'Pol looked up curiously, to see her adun removing his clothing. "You can start reverse engineering this design for the NX-03 deflector shields. Break it down into little bite sized pieces that I _can_ understand."

She raised both eyebrows. "You wish me to assist you with the actual design work?"

"Yeah." He turned toward the shower. "If I can't harpoon this whale, I'm gonna use the depth charges. One way or another, we have to give Travis and Hoshi some new upgrades pretty soon. I can't do it, not alone anyway." He stopped to look back. "If you want to stay alive, and keep that kid alive, then you better be serious about helping me. Maybe between the two of us we can figure out some of this cybernetic Sanskrit our counterparts used."

"I will do everything within my power and abilities," she swore. "Since my counterpart was involved with the original designs, it is only logical that we should coordinate our efforts. This startegy will certainly improve our probability of sucess."

"It better." He turned and walked into the head, leaving her to firm her lips and turn back to the monitor. Each task must be accomplished in its proper order. First, she needed to locate secure quarters for her family. T'Pol bent over the display intently.

#

ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 11 DAYS, 4 HOURS

Krasen awakened freezing. The life support equipment in the modified corpse torpedo was capable of providing only minimal environmental requirements. He lay pinned with his arms at his sides, to all superficial appearances just another casualty of the war. One who had been fortunate enough to actually receive funeral rites.

He ignored the discomfort. The data readout mounted directly in front of his face indicated that he was closing fast on a ship matching Vulcan specifications. He reached carefully with his left hand and operated the touchpad blindly, operating strictly on memory and feel. Identification code confirmed. It was the _Sehlat_. Commanded by Senior Centurion V'Las, originally of the fourth wing of the second fleet.

Krasen sneered in the privacy of his coffin. V'Las was a toady and a coward. It was no surprise that he would seize the opportunity to flee the rigors of battle at the first opportunity. Krasen chuckled quietly, picturing the man's face when he was immediately ordered back to the front lines. But this time, leading the charge in front of the Humans, instead of hiding behind a line of Andorian battle cruisers.

The distress beacon embedded in his capsule continued to ping, according to the readout. But the speed with which he was closing on _Sehlat_ led him to the conclusion that he had already been found. Suddenly the miniscule craft shook hard, before settling into a steady vibration. He was in the grip of a tractor beam. Now all he had to do was lie convincingly. He could do that. The war had taught him how to lie like an Orion.

An external viewport would have been ridiculous in a corpse capsule, and external cameras were considered unecessary. So Krasen had to lay blindly helpless while he was dragged roughly aboard the Vulcan cruiser, dropped onto a deck, and dragged an extended distance.

Krasen was disconcerted when he realized that his time sense was malfunctioning. He needed to check the chronometer built into the data display to realize that 11.2 minutes had passed since he stopped moving. He focused inward on his breathing. Loss of internal control now would be fatal.

#

ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 11 DAYS, 0.5 HOURS

Her Imperial Majesty, Empress and Supreme Ruler of the Terran Empire, Hoshi Sato the First watched the security feed from the sickbay monitors pensively. "Did you see this temper tantrum, darling? The one that Cole threw on our new doctor?"

Fleet admiral Travis Mayweather stretched and smiled. "Do you have to work all the time, my love? It's the middle of the night."

She made a rude face at him. "It's only 23:30. This is important, _dearest_." She glowered. "Your pet cobra almost killed the only qualified physician aboard the flagship. For no particular reason."

"Cole has a fine instinct for where the limits are," Travis rolled out of bed and padded over to her desk, wearing only the shadows cast by his sculpted muscles. "She won't risk provoking anyone above her by going too far. Reed taught her that on the point of a hot knife." He pulled her hair back and started kissing her neck.

"Stop that." She shrugged him off. "What really interests me is what the doctor did afterward."

Travis ignored her half-hearted push. "What's so interesting? Anyone but Cole could have predicted it. He would have eventually sided with the engineers anyway. As he told Hess, they can make it impossible for him to live." Tired of being ignored, he spun her chair around and picked her up.

"Put me down!" Real irritation started to show in her voice. Travis smirked. He carried her over to their spacious bed and dropped her unceremoniously in the center.

"Your wish is my command, majesty," he bowed, snickering. Travis crawled onto the bed after her, catching her fist and blocking her angry kicks with effortless ease. He rolled on top and pinned her. Travis smiled down into her frustrated eyes with real amusement.

"I'm not some whore you can just take when you want!" Hoshi bared her teeth and made a futile effort to sink them into his shoulder.

"To the contrary, my dearest," Travis told her. He forced her chin aside and caught her throat between his teeth. She froze. He ran the tip of his tongue up and then down the side of her throat, down to her collarbone and then gently bit the top of her shoulder. She shivered.

"A whore, m'love," Travis whispered, "sells herself to many men for money. You belong to one man, and one man only. Me. Never forget that. Understand?" Her eyes were closed and she didn't respond. Travis nipped her shoulder a bit harder. "Answer me."

Hoshi's eyes flew open. They were glassy. "Yes. I understand."

"Now kiss me."

Her lips parted and she raised her chin. Travis bent down to meet her open mouth. Their tongues touched and wrestled for an instant, then Hoshi's teeth clamped down hard. Travis instantly twisted both of her wrists, popping one loudly and bending the other one backwards until it was in real danger of breaking. She released him to scream.

Travis ran his tongue around his mouth, tasting blood. He chuckled. "Do you really want to renegotiate our agreement, little Hoshi?" His voice was soft, and deep, and feral as a panther's growl. "Out there, in public, you can strut and flash all it pleases you. But in here, when we are alone, I rule. Remember?" He effortlessly reached for her scalp, bringing her twisted arm along with his hand and causing her to grimace in pain.

Travis carefully ran his thumb along the spot where they should have been a surgical scar. Except that Phlox had been so desperately careful. The Denobulan had implanted the device precisely to Mayweather's specifications, whimpering in terror and clinging to Travis' promise that he would not shoot him - as long as he obeyed Mayweather like a god. Of course, as soon as the surgery was done Phlox went into the agony booth and never came out.

She was wincing in pain. "I remember." Hoshi panted and glared up at him. "But I'm not your slave. I'm no man's slave."

"You are my woman," Travis told her. "My woman does not refuse me when I want her. Now let's try this again." He covered her mouth and forced her to taste the blood she had drawn with her bite. When he drew back this time, he let her have some relief from the crushing grip on her wrists. A faint whine was her only betrayal of the pain.

"I know exactly what you are, little Hoshi," he told her softly. "When I put that bomb in you skull, I knew it was the only way to keep you from cutting my throat. That's fine, I don't mind that. As long as you remember who holds the real power here. You can't personally screw every MACO on the ship, and that's the only way you could take them away from me. You can't make the crew flinch and look away when you walk into a room, because they're afraid you'll rip out their throats with your fingers. I gave you the crown because it's a shiny toy, and I don't care about it. So you can have the attention, and the bowing, and the groveling. But you do not command me. Remember that."

Hoshi refused to meet his eyes. Travis transferred both of her wrists to one of his steel-hard hands and used the other to turn her chin. "Look at me, little Hoshi. Tell me you remember."

"I remember," she spat.

"Oh my, such anger," Travis tsked. "Are you getting bored with me already, little Hoshi? Looking for someone else to distract you?" He closed his hand on her jaw and saw fear come into her eyes.

"N-no." The words were slurred from the compression on her mouth. "Please." He released her immediately.

"See? That was all you had to say," Travis told her. "Ask me politely and there is almost nothing that I would refuse you." His face darkened. "Demand. Command. Start acting imperious and something else will happen."

"Yes, Travis. I understand, Travis," she recited, watching him carefully.

"Excellent." He rolled over and stood up beside the bed. "Now come here and show me how well you understand."

Hoshi gingerly curled into a ball, then rolled to her knees. She held up her arms, bruised and reddened by his grip. "My hands are hurting too badly to use."

"Well then," Travis shrugged. "Don't use your hands."

"Yes, Travis."

#

ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 10 DAYS, 14.5 HOURS

Eric Hess look at the diagram, then at his commanding officer. "Whatever you say, Commodore. It's gonna take a little while, though. You want me to pull some people off the refit crews?"

"Shit, no," Tucker growled. "As shorthanded as they are already? That's a dumbass question, Hess. You gotta learn to think ahead, kid. Don't be asking me questions like that, where the answer is obvious. You should have asked me, 'which station crews do I rob for people?'. Understand?"

"Yessir!" Eric straightened. "Won't happen again, sir!"

'Well?" Tucker waited.

"Which station crews do I rob for people, sir?" Hess dutifully asked.

"Helifino," Tucker muttered. "Look around and find some people that look like they aren't doing anything useful at the moment. If they give you any grief, shoot 'em. Then grab the one next to them. This is top priority. I have to be moved in before Defiant leaves, and I'm not about to sleep in what that last fool used as an excuse for living quarters. Aside from the fact that it's no doubt thick with monitors. That idiot wouldn't have had sense enough to block anything." Tucker looked disgusted.

"I'm on it, sir!" Eric turned and trotted off, clutching the PADDs with T'Pol's specs for their new quarters. Tucker sighed and rubbed his face. He noticed that he did that a lot lately.

"You awrite sur?" Drew asked him in concern. The big scar that distorted the side of his face made it hard for him to talk, but Tucker had no problem understanding him after two years together.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Drew," he smiled. "Just tired like everybody else. Let's move on to the next fire." Drew snapped an order and the other five members of his bodyguard fell into formation. Tucker growled at the nonsense but had given up complaining. Especially since they had already taken out two assassins in the past three days. One Human, one Andorian. Apparently the rebellion had gotten wind of where the upgrades were coming from. Surprise, surprise.

The design wing was isolated from the rest of the station by a double door bearing the empire crest. Two guards stationed outside snapped to rigid attention when Tucker showed up. The entrance parted like magic before the ident chip on his belt, and the six of them stepped from the brightly lit bustle of the station into a kind of fairyland.

As the doors closed silently behind them, the clang of moving parts, machinery, and the subdued roar of conversation were shut off completely. Instead there was the sound of soft music. Brahms, Tucker thought. Instead of hard deckplates covered by a utilitarian carpet, they were standing ankle deep in plush imitation fur. The bright lights of the station at large were softened by recessed glow panels in here, lest they cause fatigue to sensitive eyes that were forced to labor over computer monitors six, or sometimes even seven hours per day. The painted bulkheads - ubiquitous throughout the rest of the station - were covered here by polished hardwood panels.

The reception area was defended by a long workstation and a decorative ensign. She looked frightened at the sudden invasion of large, heavily armed men. "C-Commodore. Welcome." The young lady, Tucker estimated her to be no more than seventeen, stood up and tried to achieve a reasonable facsimile of attention. He sighed.

"How long have you been here, kid?" Tucker kept his voice at normal level. The sight of this place was like a bad rash in his shorts, but this child wasn't at fault.

"Thir - Thirteen months, sir," she stammered, looking wide-eyed at Drew, then back at Tucker. No doubt the kid had never seen anyone with actual scars before.

"Name?" Tucker asked crisply.

"Helen Simpson, sir," she told him, sweat beading on her forehead.

Tucker ran through his memory and felt puzzled. There was no Simpson that he recalled in the High Command. Perhaps a niece?

"How did you happen to be stationed here, Simpson?" he asked her idly, walking over to the wet bar and opening the cabinet door. He eyed the selection of fine vintages distastefully.

"Captain Wasoon..." She stopped for a moment. "He recruited me from Earth."

Tucker turned to examine her again. Petite. Red hair. Nice build. Very young. _"So that's it,"_ he thought in disgust. _"She can't be of age even now. How young was she when he first took her away from her family?"_ Tucker wondered.

"Your parents are poor, huh?" Tucker let a trace of sympathy into his tone. She flinched and looked down.

"My father was an honest laborer," she told him defensively. "But..."

"Yeah," Tucker said. "I get it. So was mine. As you were, Ensign Simpson. Carry on."

He led his bodyguards farther into the back with steam rising from his collar. The panelled bulkheads were adorned with original paintings and elegant holograms, while the air was fragrant with perfume. This did not make Tucker any happier. His mood boded ill for the first design engineer to cross his path.

As it happened, the initial vicitm that fate delivered into his hands was Lieutenant junior grade Eugene Martinson, Ph.D. MSWE, BSWE, LPE. Up to this point, Lieutenant E. Martinson had been thoroughly pleased with his life and his position therein. Tucker looked him over and found him perfect.

"Drew," Tucker drawled. "Have one of the boys grab that one," he pointed at Martinson, "by the collar and bring him out with us. I got something I wanna show him."

"Commodore!" Martinson protested. Drew pointed and the last two guards grabbed a shoulder apiece. They hoisted the young lieutenant out of his leather upholstered desk chair so quickly that his feet did not have time to make solid contact with the deck.

"Bring him." Tucker turned and headed back out. Drew waved the guards that were escorting the prisoner to follow close behind their commander, while the others brought up the rear. As an afterthought Tucker tossed over his shoulder, "Drew, call enough extra men to come down here and escort the rest of these dainty gentlemen down to the refit docks with us. It's about time they all got some advanced training in the practical application of warp theory."

"Commodore, there is no need for this!" Martinson sputtered and he staggered along. Whenever he started to get his balance, one or the other of his escorts would "accidently" pull him off balance again. "My grandmother will hear of this!"

"Sure she will," Tucker chuckled. "You can tell her all about your advanced training course. Once you finish it. Until then you're going to be too busy to write any letters home. We're shorthanded on the docks, kid. Every warm body needs to pitch in and help. Think of it as self-actualization." Several of the guards choked on laughter.

"B - But. Commodore!" Martinson wailed. "I'm a designer, not a mechanic!"

"Don't worry,kid," Tucker grinned back at him as they reached the turbolift. "I don't expect you do know what you're doing. That's why you and your buddies are going to be doing scut work. It will free up some of the mechanics for the useful things that actually require skill."

"You can't do this!" Martinson's uncertainty was quickly morphing into outrage.

Tucker's backhand caught him across the jaw and knocked him into the right hand guard, who neatly fielded the young man and sent him on a return trajectory - just in time to meet Tucker's knee in his crotch. Martinson went to his knees with a high pitched squeal. Tucker grasped a handfull of carefully styled hair and turned the youngster's neatly shaven face upward.

"The punishment for insubordination in time of war," Tucker informed him in a conversational voice, "is summary execution without trial. Now, what were you saying, kid?"

"Nothing... Sir..." Martinson squeaked out.

#

Rostov handed Anna the test results. "Looks like he meant it."

She scanned the PADD and nodded. "Same cocktail. Down to the anti-nausea ingredient. Our new doctor is looking for some protection."

"It might be handy to have someone with actual training," Rostov rubbed his eyelids tiredly. "Especially with all of the plasma burns and bruises we're getting from people being too exhausted to see straight."

Anna tapped the PADD thoughtfully. "Send a couple of crewmen up to sickbay and have them run the standard checks on his equipment. Anything that needs tuning or tweaking, make sure they take care of it. And make sure the guards take note of it."

"Showing the flag, huh?" Rostov grinned. "Will do. Anything else?"

"Not right now," she said slowly. Anna gave him a searching look. "I have something in mind, but it may not come to anything. I'll let you know."

"Whatever you say, Boss," He grinned and turned to go, missing her startled reaction.

After Rostov left the office area, Hess sat for several minutes thinking hard. She picked up a different PADD and activated the tracking program that she had installed. Anna felt a bit dirty, spying on Michael and Charles this way. But after all, it was going to be her ship soon. She had a right to know what was going on.

There were just too many oddities that didn't fit. The unexplained manufacture of a bio-cylinder. The frequent conversations between Michael and Charles, with careful checks to be sure she wasn't listening. And now, Rostov had started sending something to Charles' quarters at regular intervals. It made no sense. Why couldn't Charles just come down and pick it up himself? She had a right to know what was going on in her own engine room, didn't she?

Anna downloaded the results of the tracking program and opened the file. Finally, she could see what it was that Michael had been sending Charles under cover of so much secrecy. She opened the file and froze, staring.

"_No... by the dead gods of Qo'noS... NO!"_

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

**Payment**

**By Blacknblue (aka Bluenblack)**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

**Note:** Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

Payment Chapter 18:

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 9 DAYS, 1.25 HOURS**

Fleet Admiral Mayweather lounged back and rubbed his upper lip thoughtfully as he regarded the angry face on the viewscreen in front of him. Only a fraction of his attention was applied to the complaining woman. The bulk of his thoughts were directed toward the subject of her ranting. Respect, amusement, mild concern, and curiosity vied for dominance in his mind.

Admiral Consuela Martinson was red-faced with indignation, and just short of sputtering. "My grandson is a trained professional with multiple advanced degrees, Fleet Admiral. He is also a Starfleet officer with an impeccable record of service. For him to be thrown into the grease pit of a battleship's engine room and put to work doing the labor of a common crewman is not only insulting, it's a ridiculous waste of his abilities."

Mayweather dropped his hand and leaned toward the viewscreen pick up. "Admiral Martinson. Do you make a habit of bypassing the chain of command for purposes of nepotism?"

Her face froze, to his hidden amusement. Of course she made a habit of it. It was standard practice in Starfleet. Every member of the High Command used their position to obtain favors for their family and favorites. But it was a gross violation of regulations and no one would ever dare to admit to it openly.

He could see her mind racing. His question forced Martinson to consciously confront the fact that Travis Mayweather, Fleet Admiral and consort to the Empress, was actually nothing more than a junior officer who had seized an opportunity. He was not part of the established network that bound the upper echelons of Starfleet together in a distasteful web of mutual obligations.

She suddenly realized that she really had no idea how Fleet Admiral Mayweather regarded nepotism. He might even resent those who had used their birth to gain advantages that had been denied him. She might have just made a serious tactical error.

"Certainly not, Admiral," she told him with controlled dignity. Her previous anger was banished into oblivion as if it had never happened. "I was unsuccessful in contacting Commodore Tucker. Therefore, in accordance with procedure I called you, his immediate superior."

It was true, as far as it went. Travis gave her credit for not actually lying. His contact in Martinson's office reported that she had in fact made one effort to contact Tucker. His assistant told her that he was out and offered to fetch him. She had broken the connection in wrath, incensed at the idea of waiting on the convenience of a lowly station commander. Following which, she had immediately signaled _Defiant_.

Travis leaned back and permitted some of his amusement to show - just enough to inflame her irritation even further. "According to Commodore Tucker, the design team is being given advanced training in the real world application of warp physics. I'm sure you will agree, Admiral Martinson, that it's difficult for them to gain a real world understanding of warp physics sitting in front of a computer generated simulation."

Martinson seized her temper in both hands and tightened down on it with a death grip. "Admiral. Isn't this redundant? To obtain a license as a design engineer requires a minimum of five years of upper level academic training, plus at least two years as an apprentice."

"Perhaps so," Mayweather nodded. "But if their training is so extensive, Admiral Martinson," he suddenly leaned forward again until his face filed the screen, "can you explain why retro-fitting this fleet is taking three times as long as it should, due to the fact that every ship in the fleet is configured to different specifications?"

"I-" She pressed her lips together. "I'm not an engineer, Admiral."

"Neither am I," Mayweather told her. "But Commodore Tucker is. He informs me that each NX engineering department has been forced to jury-rig virtually every system on every ship. Apparently the original construction designs of the NX class are blatantly unworkable."

Martinson peeled her teeth. "If I might suggest, Admiral. It sounds like Commodore Tucker is seeking an excuse for failing to meet your deadline."

"I think not." Travis meet her eyes head on. She didn't blink or flinch. "Remember that this is the man responsible for the upgrades that are in the process of winning the war for us." She made no reply, but she did close her lips back over her teeth. "I personally served with Tucker for several years aboard _Enterprise_. He never makes excuses about his work. If anything, he tends to err in the other direction in order to cover his people. If the man that I consider to be the best engineer in Starfleet tells me that the NX class designs need to be revised, I have no choice but to believe him."

This time it was Mayweather's turn to bare his teeth. Martinson's eye's narrowed and she changed tactics. Never an ideal situation once battle was already joined, but what other choice did she have?

"If the designs are so desperately in need of revision," Martinson suggested, "would it not be more reasonable for the design team to be hard at work doing their jobs? Rather than swabbing decks and scrubbing Jeffries tubes?"

Travis leaned back again and told her coolly, "When we first recruit someone into the MACO's, we don't just hand them a pulse rifle and tell them to hit the parctice range. First and foremost, we give them a manual and a tool kit. Before anything else, we have them tear the weapon down and rebuild it. They do that over and over until they can do it in their sleep. If someone could learn to be a MACO from practicing simulations on a computer screen, like would be simpler for us all, but they can't. There is no substitute for getting your hands dirty."

"The situations are not analogous," Martinson snapped. "There is no practical requirement for a design engineer to be able to build an engine."

"Really?" Travis raised an ironic brow. "It sounds as if you think it would be appropriate to promote an officer to flag rank, and put them in charge of planning battle strategy, without ever having seen combat or firing a single shot? With their only exposure to combat conditions being computer simulations?"

"Of course not!" Martinson growled.

"Whyever not?" Travis asked ingenuously.

"Because, again, Admiral, the situations are not equivalant. Battle is a complex and chaotic situation with an almost infinite number of constantly shifting variables. Whereas-"

"Whereas, flying a starship is a routine matter? Where nothing ever goes wrong and nothing unpredictable ever happens?" He watched her face change. "How many of these designers have ever actually seen one of their engines in operation? Any of them? Had any of the design staff ever set foot in the engine room of a starship before Commodore Tucker began his new training program? Had your grandson?"

Martinson kept her mouth shut. Travis waited a minute or two. Finally he told her, "Commordore Tucker has recommended, and I intend to endorse his idea to the empress, that a new requirement be implemented. Prior to receiving a design license, all engineering apprentices will be required to spend a minimum of one year working in the engine room of a starship on active duty." She stiffened. "Those who currently hold a license will retain their license, on probation, subject to completion of the required one year additional apprenticeship. Now, Admiral, if you will excuse me I have another meeting scheduled. Dismissed."

"Admiral," she protested, "I-"

"I said dismissed."

"Yes, sir," she said between her teeth. The screen went dark.

#

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 9 DAYS, 1.00 HOURS**

Michael Rostov was a careful man. Thus, he was still alive. He was an observant man. Thus, he was third - now second - engineer on the empire's flagship. He was a man who believed in being prepared for every possible contingency. Thus, his family was still alive and the officer who had ordered their execution was not. And no one knew anything about what had happened to her. Except the boss of course. Nothing got past the boss.

At the moment, Michael Rostov was an exceedingly unhappy man. The tracer he had planted on Anna's console told him everything that he didn't want to know. Now what? He made sure that she was back-tracking the transport and synthesis records for the nutrient packs that he had been sending to the boss's Vulcan, then closed his eyes in real pain. He would almost rather defy the boss than do this. Almost.

#

"_Report."_

"_The first phase of Tucker's plan is underway. He currently has completed the process of suborning 18% of the fleet engineering crews, and is adding three new ships per day." _

"_You... no. You never joke. I can't believe this. You mean it's actually working?" _

"_Of course. The logic of his plan is unassailable." _

"_Logic my ass. There's nothing logical about any of this. Including our mission." _

"_That remark skirts perilously close to sedition. You must take care that command-." _

"_Command can kiss my backside. What are they going to do? Fire me? Now? Besides I've proven my loyalty more times than the admiral can count without taking off his shoes and pants. I told them up front when they gave us this job that they were smoking too much of that Andorian mossweed."_

"_If you were not my mate I would report you."_

"_You say the sweetest things." _

#

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 8 DAYS, 23.87 HOURS**

Krasen finished scrubbing the injector and replaced it with careful precision. That was the last one. Now the Jeffries tube. Commander Gregory was determined that the engine room would pass what he called a "white glove" inspection when they arrived at Jupiter Station. Every system was being tuned, every filter changed, every reachable surface scrubbed. Clandestine whispers between Human crew members generally upheld the opinion that Commander Gregory was concerned about Commodore Tucker's reputation for replacing engine room commanders with his own hand-picked choices, and removing the prior chiefs with extreme prejudice.

Krasen gathered the cleaning supplies and proceeded methodically toward his next task. He actually welcomed this type of mindless labor. It gave him time to consider options and evaluate his tentative plans. He was quite certain that only a suicide strike would have the slightest possibility of reaching Tucker, and only then if it was planned and carried out with incomparable precision. Every detail, no matter how slight, must be examined and re-examined for feasibility. Every possibility for failure, no matter how minuscule, must be prepared for. One chance was all he would get.

Transferring to the _Cerberus_ had been agreeably simple. Every Terran ship had suffered losses in the war. As a token of good faith and gratitude for the amnesty, the Vulcan High Council had offered the Terrans the right to requisition crew from their ships to supplement any Human cruiser that was shorthanded.

Krasen managed, with difficulty, to fight back a satisfied smirk. It said much for rebel prowess that the Terrans had actually accepted the offer. They had to have been desperate for new crew. With his forged credentials as a trained engineer, it was not difficult for V'Las to include him as part of the quota he had been ordered to hand over.

The ship was scheduled to arrive at Jupiter Station for retro-fitting in three days, one hour, and forty-one minutes. By then, his plan and preparations much be complete. Plenty of time.

#

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 8 DAYS, 20.5 HOURS**

Lieutenant Commander Anna Hess glanced idly at the chronometer. Gamma shift was well underway. Michael had gone to bed, finally, after she gave him a direct order to get some rest. He was almost as bad as Charles. She shook her head while her lips twitched. Men.

Ensign Bogart came over with a question about the coolant flow parameters. Hess gave him a brief explanation and showed him how to access the online manual. He nodded and thanked her. She smacked his shoulder and went back to her desk. A good kid. He was Sally's nephew, as she recalled.

_Probably afraid not to be a good kid,"_ Anna thought, amused. _"She could pick him up by the ears and kick him into next week."_

The Vulcan's cage was still sitting in the middle of the floor. Anna propped her cheek on her fist and contemplated it for a time. She smiled. It was going to be good, seeing the look in that bitch's eyes. It was going to be better than good. And Charles would finally be hers, at least for a while.

Her first reaction on realizing what Charles had done was mind-bending shock, followed by nearly insane rage. Then crushing grief from the sense of betrayal. It wasn't possible. Surely it couldn't be true. He wouldn't do anything so horrible.

She had been sitting with her head in her hands the previous night in her quarters, crying as she had not since her father died. Suddenly she heard Charles speak in her memory.

"_Think, Anna. Use your brain."_

It was the note of exasperation in his voice that shook her out of despair. All those times he had tried and tried to hammer it into her. Stop and think it through.

Why would he do something like this. Why? If he wanted a child, he knew that she, Anna, would crawl on her belly across a lava field for the chance to bear his child. A Human child. So why would he do this? And with the Vulcan? There had to be a reason she wasn't seeing. It was time to stop reacting and start thinking.

It was in the database, just as she had suspected it might be. It was so obvious once she found it. Anna stared at the answer and felt tempted to ask the guards outside her door to take turns beating the shit out of her for stupidity. It was so blatantly obvious that she felt about two centimeters tall for not seeing it instantly. Of course. Leverage. As long as Charles had her kid, the Vulcan was his bitch to command. She would never dare turn on him, or even try to turn anyone else against him. If she even roused his suspicion the kid would pay for it. To a Vulcan, that would be infinitely worse than dying.

She returned to the present, still staring at the cage. Charles didn't need a cage anymore. Neither did she. They had something much stronger than steel to hold the slut now.

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

**Payment**

**By Blacknblue (aka Bluenblack)**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

**Note:** Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

Payment Chapter 19:

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 8 DAYS, 11.75 HOURS**

The battle bridge was dark. Rostov sat in front of the communication console wearing a poker face, watching data stream across his monitor. He glanced up occasionally at the screen on the bulkhead to confirm that Anna was still in open view. If she was going to do it, she would have to make her move within the next half hour. The Boss would be back at the start of alpha shift.

#

"_Should we interfere?" _

"_No. Rostov is already alert. Hess believes that she is undetected. He will be able to intercept her without warning." _

"_If Hess dies..."_

"_Unlikely in the extreme. Rostov will not willingly harm Hess, and Hess will not initiate violence against Tucker's third-in-command without authorization."_

"_Remember the calculation." _

"_Yes. Probability greater than 78% of Rostov being the source. I repeat, there will be no violence." _

"_If you say so. If you're wrong, and we end up stuck here, I'm never going to let you live it down." _

"_I would expect nothing less of you." _

#

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 8 DAYS, 11.75 HOURS**

"No, Commander Gregory," Tucker said firmly to the image on the comm. "None of your non-Human crew will set foot on this station. You're not here for shore leave. I don't care how you organize your engine room, but the only people coming over here for advanced training will be Terran. Understood?"

"_Understood, commodore."_

Gregory's face looked neither upset nor pleased. He just took it in stride. Obviously this guy was a wave rider. He would tag along after anybody who had the upper hand. Given the chronic shortage of trustworthy officers Tucker had to work with, he might even be usable. At least for now. The network reported at least three solid crew members in his engineering department. Their report on the man would determine whether or not he lived to grovel another day.

#

Krasen continued to monitor his terminal, ostensibly oblivious to the conversation taking place in the chief's office. It was no more than he had expected. Tucker could not be an idiot and survived, much less have accomplished as much as he had. He had to get onto the station in a clandestine manner.

A shuttle was not an option. He would be vaporized before he got near a docking port. Piggy-backing his own signal onto a scheduled transporter beam was a possibility that he had seriously considered. But if he was capable of doing it, that monstrous ship was no doubt capable of detecting it.

There was only one logical choice.

#

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 8 DAYS, 11.5 HOURS**

T'Pol straightened from the desk, puzzled. The replicator should not be activating. She had not input a request.

When she walked over her puzzlement shifted to suspicion. Her baby's nutrition pack was not due again for another 12.5 hours. In fact, she had not anticipated receiving another nutrition pack until both she and her baby were safely placed aboard Jupiter Station. T'Pol stepped back to the desk and obtained the tri-corder that her mate had given her. It had been intended to aid her in the design work, but it's scan functions were still in place.

The nutrition pack seemed genuine. No energy signatures indicated a bomb. There was nothing coating the outer surface. T'Pol felt her eyebrows pull together. Not for an instant did she doubt that it was a trap. If it was not intended for her, it could only have been intended for her baby.

Animal rage darkened her vision for several seconds. The sound of the tri-corder's case crackling under her grip distracted her, and she started the Disciplines. In a matter of moments she was back under control. Her matebond connection prickled with concern. He had felt her anger. T'Pol concentrated, sending a warning of danger, and felt him receive it. Now, they would pay. She almost lost control again, but fought the rage back down.

"_What were they planning to do to my child?"_

T'Pol walked over to the replicator and picked up the nutrition pack. Logic informed her that it was most probably designed to operate once attached to the bio-cylinder. The connection was simplistic. One slid the pack into its designated slot, then pressed the built-in toggle to engage the connection.

She activated her tri-corder again and placed the sensor node adjacent to the connection on the pack. Then she pressed the toggle. Indecipherable data streamed across the tri-corder readout at high speed. Her vision blurred. She was unconscious before she hit the floor, and never felt the transporter beam take hold.

#

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 8 DAYS, 11.5 HOURS**

Rostov grimaced and cursed. "Anna..." He stood up reluctantly and opened the battle bridge's weapon's locker. A heavy belt with multiple attachments fastened around his waist, with a Type II phaser hanging from it. A standard medical pouch balanced it on the other side. Rostov closed the locker and re-sealed it with his personal code. He stepped across the room and opened a heavily armored door. Inside were two transporter pads and a small control panel. Rostov started working.

#

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 8 DAYS, 11.5 HOURS**

T'Pol felt sensation returning. She was horizontal, on her back, on a yielding surface. A bunk perhaps. There were sounds. Rustling, computer readout signals. A scent. Human. Female.

Hess.

Cold. She must be cold and calculating. Her enemy had finally struck. Now was the time to kill or die. Her child could not afford any mistakes.

Pressure across her arms, legs, and torso. Restrained, but not chained. A biobed. Of course. Hess had brought her to the engineering department's medical bay. It was shielded with 23rd century sensor baffles and locked with command level authorization. Where better to torture and kill? T'Pol was confident that her enemy had no intention of granting her the mercy of a quick death.

"The brain scan readout tells me that you're awake," Hess said in a conversational tone. "Hide behind your eyelids if it suits you. It won't save you."

T'Pol slitted her eyes and glared. She pulled up all her concentration and started focusing, trying to make a telepathic connection with Hess. Futile of course. For a Vulcan to be able to influence someone from a distance virtually required the victim to be already distracted, and to possess at least some telepathic ability of their own. Hess was focused with single minded determination on her prey, and she was not afflicted with the slightest trace of any telepathic ability. T'Pol finally gave up the attempt and started evaluating alternatives.

Hess ambled over, toying with her belt dagger. She seemed relaxed and pleased. "Might as well get comfortable Vulcan. You're going to be there for the next two days or so."

"You have finally gone completely insane," T'Pol declared with finality. "My mate will find me within minutes. He already knows what has occurred."

"No doubt he knows you're in trouble," Hess admitted. "He might even know that I'm with you. But he won't get here before you drop into the healing trance. Once you're in it, everything will be fine."

"What... are you talking about?" T'Pol locked her face into impassivity.

"Give it up," Hess grinned like a cat facing a sparrow. "Charles is the one who told me about it. Once you're in the trance, he and I can be together without that bond of yours getting in the way. Unless you'd rather I bring that little bio-cylinder from your quarters here and start experimenting on it?"

When the darkness finally began to fade from T'Pol's mind, the first thing she realized was pain. Her arms and legs were lacerated and bruised from her attempts to snap the restraints. Her throat was hoarse from shrieking, and she could taste her own blood in her mouth where she had bitten herself snapping at Hess. Her enemy stood just beyond reach, holding a hypo and smirking.

"I will rip out your liver and offer it to the scavengers," T'Pol swore.

Hess laughed. "Not today you won't." She put the hypo down and drew her dagger again. "Here's how it works. I don't need that mutant abomination to make you go into trance. It's just the easiest way. If I need to, I can dope you up to block the pain from Charles, then go to work with my knife. Once you're on the point of death your body will drop into the healing trance by instinct, according to the database."

"YOU are the abomination!" T'Pol snarled. "All Humans are savages, but you are beyond a savage. You are an animal. What kind of creature would threaten torture to a tiny baby?"

Hess snorted. "Baby? It's a damn clone, and a half-breed clone at that. Besides, it's not a baby yet, it's just an embryo. I won't have any problem trying out some of Defiant's equipment for gene splicing. There's no telling what I could turn that creature into.

T'Pol changed tactics. "My mate will never accept you now. Not after you threatened his child."

"Right. His child." Hess smiled bitterly. "The only reason he created that thing was for leverage over you. If it weren't for you, he would be the father of MY CHILD!" She struck like a serpent and buried the knife in T'Pol's thigh. Hess paused to breathe heavily and watch while the Vulcan fought for control. "And he will be, now that I know how to keep you out of the way. My next fertile period, you are going under. When you wake up, Charles will have a real child to care about. A Human child. You, and that corruption of nature, will be nothing by a problem to be disposed of."

The medical bay door whooshed open. Both women snapped a glare at Rostov when he stepped through with a phaser pistol in his fist. Hess grabbed for the gun at her belt, but she had no chance. T'Pol felt the tingling in her wounded leg as the beam barely brushed it. Hess dropped to the floor, stunned.

Rostov walked over to the biobed and checked the readout over T'Pol's head. He nodded, put the phaser back on his belt, and walked over to a nearby cabinet. T'Pol watched him tensely. Rostov returned with a selection of instruments and materials in both hands. He looked at her and said, "Hold still." T'Pol managed to hold herself back from pointing out that since she was still restrained, no other option was possible. Besides, once he started digging the knife blade out of her leg she almost spasmed. By her mate's report, Rostov was a competent engineer. As a medic, his performance left much to be desired. But he got the blade out and her wound closed.

"Release me," she demanded.

"In a minute," Rostov muttered, checking Hess with a medical tri-corder. He administered a hypo and ran another scan. Satisfied, he straightened up and walked back over to the biobed. "I'll turn you loose as soon as we work out what we're going to tell the boss."

"I will tell him the truth," T'Pol hissed. "He will finally kill Hess for this."

"No, you won't," Rostov said calmly. "And no, he won't. See, here's the deal. The boss holds my family's lives in the palm of his hand. He agreed to keep quiet in return for loyal servce. All this time, him and me, we've never had any real problem with the arrangement. He's a good guy to work for anyway. I'm the only one that he told about the kid, and from that point on the deal kinda became reciprocal. I wanna keep the situation stable."

T'Pol's nostrils flared as she suddenly paid attention to his scent. "You desire Hess."

"So here's what I'm offering, take it or leave it," Rostov told her, ignoring her remark. "You were attacked in your quarters, and managed to kill the assassin. I transported you both here, repaired the damage, and sent you back to your quarters. You don't know any more than that. I'll handle the rest of it. Sound good?"

"Why should I?" T'Pol snarled, glaring hatred at the prone body of her enemy.

Rostov asked thoughtfully, "Do you know what opinion our beloved empress holds about half-breeds?" T'Pol froze. "Fleet Admiral Mayweather doesn't like them much either, but her majesty absolutely despises them. Just the thought makes her sick to her stomach. What would happen if she learned that there was a half-breed embryo aboard her flagship. Especially if it was your embryo? Think she would pass up that kind of a chance?"

"Charles will destroy you," T'Pol snarled.

"I don't think so," Rostov said. "Not for something like that. After all, once he explains to the empress that he only did it to have an extra lever to control you I'm sure that her majesty won't give him too much grief over it. Especially since it will give her a chance to hurt you more than you've ever been hurt before. She might even end up pleased about it. So the boss won't have any reason to kill me or my family. He'll be pissed and punish me of course. And I'll lose my position. But that's the way life works."

T'Pol glared. "You think he will care nothing for the fact that you betrayed him and caused the death of his child?"

"It's a fetus." Rostov shrugged. "Us Human males don't bond with our kids until they get born anyway. It's not like he would care if you got hurt. And even without the kid, he still has the collar." The human looked at her. "If you cost me Anna, I'll make sure you lose your kid. If you go along with what I tell you this time, I'll make sure you and the fetus get transferred over to the station right away. Anna can't reach you there. I'll also keep watch and make sure she doesn't try anything else until you get away. Up to you. Want to keep the kid or not?"

"Why should I trust you?" T'Pol growled, turning her head back and forth desperately.

"I just saved your backstabbing ass," Rostov pointed out. "This is after you got half my friend's on _Enterprise_ murdered in cold blood, you miserable Vulcan bitch. I'm offering you the best chance you'll ever get. If you don't want it, I can still make it look like Security broke in, killed you, and found the bio-cylinder. Don't think I can't. I'll miss the boss, but..." He glanced at Hess.

T'Pol sagged. "I have no choice. I agree." Rostov nodded.

"I'll be right back." She watched him walk out feeling chagrined.

#

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 8 DAYS, 11.25 HOURS**

"What isst sur?" Drew slurred as he and rest of Tucker's bodyguard trotted along beside him.

"Not sure," Tucker tossed back. "Trouble on _Defiant_. That's all I know." All six men tensed and grabbed weapons. Drew made a gesture. He and another guard pulled in front while the others tightened around. Tucker flipped open his communicator. "Tucker to Rostov. Report."

"_Rostov here. Situation under control, commodore. I'm on it. Problem contained."_

Tucker started to back off his hair trigger the slightest amount. "Report. What happened?"

"_No time, commordore. Cleanup underway. Will report ASAP. Again, all under control. Situation green. Rostov out."_

Tucker sagged against the bulkhead in relief. He could still feel T'Pol's outrage through the bond. If anything it was increasing. But no doubt that was aftershocks. She would probably be pissed off for hours. But if Rostov said everything was contained, then it was contained. If he couldn't trust Michael Rostov, he might as well hang it up.

#

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 8 DAYS, 11.0 HOURS**

Rostov walked through the rear storage area of _Defiant's_ engineering section, feeling mentally and emotionally exhausted. _"Dunno what I would've done if the Vulcan had called my bluff,"_ he reflected. There was no way that he would have risked his baby brother and sister, or his mom. Not even for Anna. But thankfully, the Vulcan didn't realize that. Now all he needed was a dead assassin.

"Hey, Campbell," he called. The browbeaten crewman raised his head fearfully. Tucker had privately informed both Michael and Anna that he planned to transfer the overly ambitious former ensign back to one of the NX class vessels, once he found one with a particularly noxious engine room. Rostov reflected that there was no point in wasting good Human talent that way.

"Yes, sir?" The much abused crewman shuffled over with a hangdog expression, never daring to raise his eyes. He had not come close to forgetting that he lived strictly by the personal whim of Hess, at the specific request of Tucker. Since the day Anna stabbed him, the man hadn't dared to so much as frown at anyone. "Awaiting orders, sir."

Rostov sighed in disgust. "Follow me." He turned back into the maze of pipes and conduits that lined the far end of engineering, with Campbell shuffling along behind. He wasn't worried about being backstabbed. Rostov finally stopped at a stack of storage crates and turned.

"We need the one at the bottom, naturally," he pointed. "Start digging." Campbell obediently moved past and took hold of the top crate. Rostov's butterfly chop landed precisely on the third cervical vertebrae, snapping it cleanly and dropping Campbell like a rock. He was dead before he hit the floor. Rostov grabbed a handful of shirt collar and started dragging.

The Vulcan watched indifferently as he dragged in the corpse and dropped it in a corner. Rostov told her, "Neck broke, in case the boss checks." She nodded. "Now. We're agreed? You got jumped. I brought you here to fix the bleeding, then back to your quarters. That's all you know."

"Agreed," the Vulcan said, obviously still simmering. Rostov cautiously approached and released the restraints, then stepped back with his phaser pistol ready. T'Pol sat up and worked her arms and legs for a few seconds before jumping down from the bio-bed.

"Turn around," Rostov commanded. "Put your hands on the bed."

"Why?" the Vulcan asked suspiciously.

"Because I'm not about to let you put your hands on me, that's why," Rostov told her bluntly. She snorted and obeyed. He moved forward with extreme caution and pressed the phaser against her back. Then he used his free hand to manipulate a control on his belt. The transporter effect was much quicker and smoother than the old NX class systems. They were back in the boss's quarters in no time.

Rostov jumped backward to clear some space between them. "Go ahead and toss the nutrient pack into the disposal," he told her, still holding the weapon. "We don't need loose ends, do we?" She glared but did as he demanded. "All right, I'm heading back. Just remember there's a dead man switch on the information. If I die, 24 hours later the empress gets a full report." He touched the switch and transported out.

#

Anna woke to a pounding skull and a mouth that tasted like injector solvent. She tried to roll over and suddenly realized that she was strapped down.

"_Shit!"_

Her eyes popped open. Michael stood leaning against the wall with a dead man at his feet. The Vulcan was gone and she was tied to the same bio-bed. This was not good at all.

"Mornin' sleepy-head," Michael grinned. "Have a good nap."

"You miserable son of a bitch," Anna snarled. "You misbegotten spawn of a seething pile of-"

"Careful, Anna," Michael admonished her with a finger. "I could just as easily have set it on kill." This was so self-evidently true that she subsided, just a tiny bit.

"Why?" She struggled against the restraints. No luck. "What do you care about the Vulcan?"

"Nothing," Michael said flatly. "I don't give a Tellarite's ass about the Vulcan. But I got my orders. The boss said, 'no matter what, keep the Vulcan alive and protect my kid'. So I had no choice."

Anna flinched. "I wasn't going to kill her. Besides, I don't believe he said that. He can't think of that thing as his kid."

Michael shrugged. "Believe whatever suits you, Anna. I had no way to know what you were going to do, and no time to ask when you were grabbing for a gun."

Hess slumped back on the pillow. "You didn't, did you?" she admitted. She stared at the ceiling for a while. "Now what?"

"I talked the Vulcan into keeping her mouth shut,' Michael told her.

Anna stared. "How'd you do that?"

Michael chuckled. "I appealed to her enlightened self-interest. Anyway, it turns out that Campbell sold out to Security. He beamed in and tried to take out the Vulcan, but she broke his neck." Rostov pointed to the corpse at his feet. "I brought her here to fix the stab, then sent her back. The boss agrees that it's time to move her and the embryo over to the station." He paused. "Keep your hands off both of them, Anna. I don't want to have to shoot you again. I swear I don't." He sounded sincere.

"So Charles..." Anna said slowly, thinking it through.

"He doesn't know anything about what you tried," Michael told her. "He doesn't know you threatened his kid. He doesn' know you violated orders and went after the Vulcan. He doesn't know anything except that Campbell is a lousy assassin."

Anna looked at him for a long moment. "Why would you do that for me?"

"You're not that stupid," Michael said shortly. He walked over and loosened the restraints, then stepped back. Anna sat up and regarded him thoughtfully.

#

Krasen moved slowly over the surface of the nacelle, testing handholds. The rest of the team, almost exclusively non-Human, were hard at work making the required adjustments and installing the upgrades as per Tucker's new designs. Krasen took another reading. He was almost in position. There would be no room for error in any aspect of this attempt. But if he executed everything perfectly, it would work.

If any of 139 critical variables were less than perfect, he was dead. The risk was acceptable, given the value of the target.

He paused and took another position reading. Here. This was an acceptable launch point. He pulled both boots free from the hull and drifted in position, steadying himself until he reached a point of zero motion relative to the ship's hull. The he activated the improvised guidance system that he had built and used it to align the suit's thruster unit. He fired the thruster and began his long fall toward the gas giant. Once he was in motion, the faint grip of the giant's gravity well began to add it's effect to his velocity, inputting a slight but noticeable acceleration.

The only thing between him and the largest planet in this system was the miniscule structure known as Jupiter station. At this range, no Human could survive the trip. The life support system in suit was grossly inadequate. Krasen counted on that fact. Human's were notoriously species-centric. It would almost certainly never occur to them that a Vulcan who turned the life support in his suit to its lowest possible setting, and then entered into the third level of meditation and remained there for the duration of the trip, might have a fighting chance of reaching Jupiter Station alive.

Once he reached the station, a single drifting figure in an almost powerless suit would be effectively invisible to standard sensor sweeps. The tool kit he wore contained everything he would need to open a path into the station. From there, all he had to do was find Tucker and die.

It was going to work. He could feel it.

TBC

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

**By Blacknblue (aka Bluenblack)**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

**Note:** Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

Personal apology and promise:

It's been a ridiculously long time since I added anything to my latest two stories on . For that, I sincerely apologize. Most especially I apologize to the people who took the time to offer their comments.

I hereby promise that, barring unforeseen disaster, I *will* finish both of my stories. Both "Payment" and "Vahklas" are already planned out. In fact, I already have the final scene of "Vahklas written. It's just that between my health, and my family responsibilities, and the fact that I am trying my best to get something published that I migth actually get paid for... I just haven't taken the time to get these done.

I am sorry. I will do better. Thank you for your loyalty, and your feedback. It will be rewarded eventually.

Uh... that's it I guess. I better get busy writing.


	21. Chapter 21

**Payment**

**By Blacknblue (aka Bluenblack)**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

**Note:** Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

**A/N:** It has been a dismally long time between updates. I'm sorry.

Payment Chapter 20:

_"The fetus is an X factor. There is no record of such a child." _

_"Which proves nothing. There is no record describing the color of the carpet in the main access corridor between sickbay and the gym, either. Or the number of chairs in the Deck 3 refectory." _

_"A non sequiter. Neither of those details are historically significant. The probability of this child NOT having an impact on the time stream at some point in their lifespan is negligible."_

_"And again, it proves nothing. Maybe she died young. Or, maybe her parents trained her to keep her head down and operate in the shadows. We still don't know the full effect that Stalin's butler had on history. Or who Napoleon talked to in the evenings during his exile. There are countless details that we don't know about. You can't kill a baby over what we don't know." _

_"I have no intention of terminating the child without valid cause. I agree that our information is incomplete at best. I merely point out that the presence of the fetus will influence the behavior of Tucker in unpredictable ways." _

_"So far, he's sticking strictly to his predicted pattern. If things continue this way, he will make his move within two years. It all looks promising. Preventing Sato from killing that pair was the best move we have made since the relocation."_

_"It is disappointing that he refused his underling's offer to make him emperor. It would simplify matters enormously with Tucker on the throne. I have no desire to spend any more lifespan in this century than necessary." _

_"You talk about me making dangerous gambles? That kind of massive upheaval in the time stream would have incalculable consequences. The same factors that make him ideal for instigating a renaissance, also make him a loose cannon. It might turn out to be equivalent to introducing Spock a century early." _

_"But it would certainly achieve the larger goal. As emperor, Tucker would never permit the corruption and inefficiency to continue." _

_"I think that falls under the heading of burning the barn to kill the rats. Here hun, drink some tea." _

_**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 7 DAYS, 1.25 HOURS**_

Tucker materialized on the pad wearing a granite expression and his dress uniform. An escort consisting of five security officers and five engineering guards stood rigidly at attention on each side of the door. Amanda Cole smiled slowly and waited.

"Commodore Tucker reporting as ordered by her majesty," he recited, fixing his eyes on the far wall. "Request permission to come aboard."

The transporter tech on duty flickered his eyes with the speed of a snake's tongue. They snapped up to meet Tucker's, and then back down to his controls. Not a single expression in the room wavered, but every muscle quivered with adrenaline.

Cole started nibbling on the nail of her remaining forefinger. She propped an elbow on the console and considered his request carefully. Finally, "I suppose... since the empress wants to see you I can't really prevent it... _Get down here Tucker, and quit wasting her majesty's time!_"

He stepped off the dais calmly and headed for the door, ignoring her wild-eyed glare. She smirked and sauntered into position behind him, fondling the haft of her blade and looking longingly at the back of his neck. The entourage headed through the door, and the transporter tech pushed a single button on his control board. A light blinked once and went off.

#

T'Pol prowled their new quarters aboard the station like a Le'Matya scouting her territory. Their child was safely nestled in her new home, fed and resting. But T'Pol had no intention of relaxing her guard again. Not while she lived. Hess had come too close, too easily. The most damning part of the situation, the part that maddened her, was the fact that it was T'Pol's own fault. If she had simply disposed of the nutrient pack instead of scanning it, her rival's plan would have failed completely.

Her own arrogance had caused her to be captured, and had come within a razor's edge of costing their child her life. Or perhaps worse. Again, she had underestimated an enemy. T'Pol closed her eyes, and once more recited the Disciplines. It was imperative that she avoid distracting her mate. Whatever the purpose of the meeting to which he had been summoned, it would surely require his full attention.

Her hand unconsciously touched the Type I phaser at her belt again. Trip had agreed to give her the weapon after hearing of the 'assassination attempt', to her astonished delight. However, he had modified it. The miniature device was capable of delivering a moderate stun, no more. He had informed her bluntly that if she killed anyone at all, for any reason, he would set both collar controls to maximum and leave them that way for two days.

She was still incredulous that he permitted her to have it. Her mate's faith in Defiant's database must be absolute. Or perhaps it was her real fear, leaking through the bond, that convinced him. She had never been so terrified in her life as when she heard Hess gleefully threaten her baby.

For the thousandth time T'Pol paused beside the bed and put her hand on the wall. Her daughter was warm and content. The painful tightness of her muscles eased a fraction. She smiled.

_"Soon, my beloved. Soon we will touch."_

She pulled away reluctantly and resumed the movements of a hunting predator.

#

Darkness. Cold. Silence.

Krasen's awareness emerged from the fringes of oblivion. Points of light formed in his viewport. He was approaching Jupiter Station at a speed that would ensure his death on impact if he did not begin deceleration soon. He raised his concentration to the first level of meditation, aware of the outer world but still insulated from it. Sufficient oxygen and energy remained in the suit to keep him alive until he got inside. Barely. The suit thrusters were dead, as expected.

His improvised reaction pistol was awkwardly shaped and inefficient. But the optical sighting mechanism gave him a means of dead reckoning that sufficed to slow his trajectory to a survivable impact velocity. A few feather light taps served for course correction. He took aim for the lower levels of the station, which his research had indicated were reserved for cargo delivery.

The outer latticework of the station's docking structure drifted past, black silhouettes against the gas giant below. Only a few lights, and the occasional backlit port from some docked ship, gave evidence that the station was not an ancient relic. With no power left to energize his comm unit, Krasen drifted through the silent black alone with his thoughts.

The bulk of the station proper drifted closer with dreamlike patience. His suit's oxygen was effectively depleted, but he was less then two minutes from contact. Krasen turned his awareness inward, siphoning resources from his cellular reserves to provide the energy he needed to complete his objective. By the time he was fully alert again, the hull of the station was less than ten meters below him.

Krasen detached a magnetic grapnel and sent it tenderly spinning downward. It struck the hull and adhered instantly, with barely an impact. One light tug on the tether pulled him toward the anchor point, feet first. Like the grapnel, the magnets embedded in his boots auto-activated on contact. He now had 3.5 minutes to find, enter, and cycle an airlock before hypoxia overcame him.

He made it with thirteen seconds to spare.

#

Tucker walked into the conference room and snapped to attention. His right fist smacked into his left shoulder, then he stood rigid. General Kuchera looked him over with a glint of interest. Travis eyed him in bland acknowledgment of his presence. Hoshi merely looked amused. "At ease, Commodore," the empress told him. "Have a seat. I'm sure you remember General Kuchera."

"Yes, ma'am." Tucker seated himself at the foot of the table, as per protocol, leaving the three big dogs clustered together at the other end. He maintained a stiffly upright posture and waited for instructions.

"That will be all, Lieutenant Commander," Travis told Cole. She, also standing icicle straight, did not bat an eye - merely performed a flawless about face and marched back out. The escort had not followed them into the room. Since the walls were already lined with bodyguards, their presence would have been redundant to say the least.

"The general requested a meeting with you, Tucker," Hoshi told him. "He also wants to inspect the station." She eyed him. "You have no objection I trust?"

"Certainly not, your majesty." Tucker continued to hold himself rigid. "I am honored to host such a distinguished visitor." She blinked and looked at him more closely. Travis scratched his nose and his lips twitched.

"Tucker? Are you feeling ill?" At his head shake she demanded, "Then what's going on here? The last time I saw you sitting like that was at the hearing where Archer wanted to airlock your second. I don't know what rumors you may have heard, but no one intends to space any of your people at the moment."

Tucker kept a stiff upper lip. "With respect, your majesty. Since the admiral and yourself have seen fit to entrust me with the command of such a crucial facility, I consider it imperative that I adjust my manners and habits of speech to more appropriate standards." She stared at him briefly, before snorting and shaking her head. The poker face that Travis wore would have done credit to a statue.

Kuchera, however, nodded approvingly. "Good. The higher the command level, the more strictly one should observe protocol."

Tucker inclined his head. "Thank you, sir. Your approval means a great deal to me." Even Travis looked at him curiously after that one. "I am prepared to begin the inspection at your convenience."

"Not quite yet," Hoshi said lazily. "Talk to me about the upgrades. How are things progressing?"

"With the additional personnel," Tucker told her, "we have been able to average two ships per day. At the current rate, I anticipate completing the required retrofits approximately half a day ahead of schedule."

Mayweather nodded approvingly. "How are the new designs coming along?"

Tucker took a deep breath. "There is one possibility that I wanted to explore, but time and resources have prevented it. It's an experimental idea of my own, not a duplication from Defiant's database."

"Really?" Hoshi leaned forward and started twirling a lock of hair. "You intrigue me, Mr. Tucker. Keep talking."

"As you know, your majesty," he said, "I'm working on improving our torpedo yields." She and Travis nodded, while Kuchera leaned forward, looking fascinated. "At present I lack the time to upgrade our manufacturing base. But I ran some calculations. I believe that we could use Defiant's own replication capacity to produce an excess stockpile of torpedoes for the task force. They would be incompatible with the existing launchers of course. But Defiant's torpedoes are self-propelled and self-guided."

"I love it!" Her imperial majesty squealed in delight. "How many can we add to the fleet?" She was practically bouncing in her chair.

"Not as many as I'd like," he told her ruefully. "But I'm confident that we could produce at least two Defiant-class torpedoes for each Terran warship in the task force prior to launch."

"Wonderful!" She paused at his raised hand. "What?"

"Piggybacking the new torpedoes with an improvised mounting system will reduce their effectiveness," he told her reluctantly. "The explosive yield will be the same, but the range will be about 56% of what a proper launch mechanism could achieve."

"What about accuracy?" Travis wanted to know.

"That shouldn't be an issue," Tucker told him. "The internal guidance system has a remarkably sophisticated AI program. All the NX class ships will need to do is release them and tell them where to go. The torpedoes will steer themselves."

"Well, General?" Travis asked mildly. "Do you begin to see why her majesty decided to promote the commodore to his new position?"

"Indeed." Kuchera looked at Trip. "I came up through the ranks myself, young man. I have long believed that if you give your people room, innate talent will eventually win out." His lips twitched. "Not all of us think the right family name confers infallibility."

"I quite agree," Travis said with a dangerous smile. Tucker's face was impervious to expression. "What do you need to make this happen, Commodore?"

"Twenty more engineers," he replied promptly. "Experienced people with practice working in zero gee. Priority access to processed materials to feed Defiant's replicators. Ten of the two-person sleds, along with supplemental life support gear for every man."

"You will have it before the end of beta shift," Hoshi promised. She looked at Kuchera. "That won't be a difficulty, will it General?"

"No," he said emphatically. "None at all. I will send out the orders as soon as this meeting is concluded."

"In that case..." Hoshi stood up. "The meeting is concluded. Get busy gentlemen. We have a war to win."

#

Krasen reached up and yanked hard on the tips of his ears. The artificial points tore loose, exposing his surgical alterations. He peeled off the synthetic Vulcan eyebrows he wore and re-aligned them to conform to Human norms. The reek wafting up from the collar of his suit informed him that the drug cocktail had taken effect, his body odor was already very close to Human standard. If the other drug worked, his blood should now be red, and remain that color for the next three days. Krasen considered it unlikely that he would survive long enough for deficiencies in his disguise to become an issue. With the favor of the ancient Vulcan gods, he would be dead within an hour. At most, less than a day.

The airlock port offered a limited view of the storage area. It was dimly lit, implying that the Humans used it intermittently. He finished removing his suit and extracted a listening probe from his tool kit. The micro-thin wire bore its way through the airlock seal and started scanning the room beyond for anything in the frequency range of a Human voice. Nothing. He moved out on silent feet.

#

Tucker headed for engineering, using the excuse that he needed to get things underway for the new torpedo production. Actually, he had discussed the matter with Hess and Rostov more than once and both knew exactly what had to be done. But Tucker had never seen the point in confusing a superior officer with information they didn't need.

Both Anna and Michael were waiting for him, as requested. He greeted both of them with publicly restrained courtesy and asked for a quick inspection with Michael before meeting them in the chief's office. Anna nodded, not quite meeting his eyes, and headed for the nearest console. Tucker raked a look across Rostov and jerked his head sideways.

It was the swiftest 'casual' inspection in military history, and it ended with the pair of them on a catwalk above and behind the warp core. Even Defiant's shielding was hard put to contain the hellish radiation, and the temperature was well above comfort. But it was the only place on the ship where no one, not even an engineer, could eavesdrop on them.

Tucker braced himself against the corner railing and crossed his arms. Rostov looked innocent and hooked his thumbs in his belt. "What do you think, Commodore? Have we kept her mopped and dusted?" He grinned.

Tucker did not return the smile. "Did you really think that I wouldn't have my own quarters monitored? With the Vulcan and everything else that's in there?"

Rostov let his face settle into a resigned expression. "I was keeping my fingers crossed that you wouldn't check the records until we go them separated."

Tucker tapped his temple with a finger. "Vulcans are the best liars in the galaxy. But their weak point is this telepathy. They can't lie to their own family. Just won't work, the bond turns them in every time. It frustrates the shit out of her, but she can't do it. I can always tell when she's trying to pull one."

Michael nodded. "Makes sense." He looked at Tucker. "I didn't know what else to do, Boss. It was the only way I could think of to keep 'em away from each other until you got... the important stuff clear and onto the station."

They regarded each other in silence for a time. Tucker finally said, "I'm not arguing with success. It worked, and that's what counts. But now what do I do about Anna?"

"I dunno, Boss," Rostov said soberly. "What do you wanna do?"

Tucker rubbed his chin. "You'd be the best thing that ever happened to her, if she had sense enough to realize it." He chewed his tongue a minute in contemplation.

"Not happening, Boss. You know that." Despite his best efforts, a faint taste of bitterness rode on the backs of his words. "You're the one she wants. That's all of it."

"Not happening," Tucker echoed him. "I can't get loose from the Vulcan. If I did, it would just kill me slow. I wouldn't do that to Anna anyway. She deserves better. She deserves a man who's ready to tough it out to the end."

Rostov pressed his lips together and looked away. Finally he said, "I thought maybe..." His mouth closed.

"Yeah." Tucker nodded. "Maybe with me out of the way, she might pull her head out of her ass. I'll do my best to encourage it."

Michael looked at him with an unreadable expression. "It won't cause any trouble with the plan, either way."

"I know that," Tucker said, disgusted. "Now let's go. I got some top brass waiting for me to babysit him through an inspection on the station, and no time to eat, sleep, or crap."

#

Krasen kept his head down and mopped industriously. It was a prevailing characteristic of Humans - very seldom did they interact with maintenance personnel. In fact, most of them never bothered to look at him beyond a swift glance. The cleaning work he was performing, according to Krasen's information, was usually reserved for punishment duty. No one was interested in socializing with an simple crewman who was either at the bottom of the seniority list, or had earned the ire of a superior.

His Vulcan hearing was once again proving its value. Already Krasen had learned that Tucker had been called to the flagship for a briefing. Further, snips of casual gossip told him that the fleet preparations were on schedule and the attack would commence in seven days. But it seemed that the lower rankings had no more idea of their target than he did.

He considered his options. It might be possible to crack the security on the station's computer system and discover the fleet's objective. But it would leave him highly vulnerable to discovery. He rejected the idea. If he could learn the objective with minimal risk before killing Tucker, so much the better. If not, the rebels had other operatives capable of gaining the information. His primary task took priority over all else.

Krasen stiffened, along with everyone else, when the loudspeaker activated. He stood trembling with barely contained rage as the Human announced proudly that General Kuchera, most senior member of the High Command, was personally arriving with the Commodore to conduct a hands-on inspection.

Kuchera. The Butcher. There was not a single member of the Vulcan species who would not gladly give their lives, and all they owned, if it would buy Kuchera's death. And he was here, along with Tucker. They would no doubt be in close proximity to each other during the tour. His last doubts about the existence of the old gods was swept away forever. Only divine favor could have brought him the gift of this opportunity. Krasen intended to make certain that it was not wasted.

He started carefully working his way toward the shuttle bay.

#

TBC


	22. Chapter 22

**Payment**

**By Blacknblue (aka Bluenblack)**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

**Note:** Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

**A/N:** It has been a dismally long time between updates. I'm sorry.

Payment Chapter 21:

Tucker confirmed that the shuttle deck was pressurized. He turned to General Kuchera and said, "Welcome to Jupiter Station, sir."

The old man nodded and stood up from the co-pilot's seat. They were alone in the shuttlepod, it having been decided that trying to cram two full complements of bodyguards into a space designed for no more than four people would be ludicrous. The guards were sent over by transporter and would be waiting just outside the docking bay exit. Since Tucker's life expectancy would be measured in minutes if anything happened to the old man, Kuchera didn't seem bothered by the situation.

"I'm interested in hearing more about those phase rifle upgrades, Commodore," the general told him as Tucker opened the hatch. "While you're working on improving the power cells, is there anything else you could do about getting more ranger or power?"

"Not until we finish upgrading our manufacturing base, sir," Tucker told him. He climbed out and waited while the aged man creaked his way slowly out of the shuttlepod. "I have the design changes ready to go, but our present equipment can't handle them. We will have to use Defiant's replicators to make the components to produce the new production capacity."

"Always something." Kuchera stopped to catch his breath. "Can't complain though. It's not like you are sitting on your hands here." He looked at Tucker sharply. "Tell me something, Mr. Tucker. I read your service record. With you skills and intelligence, it's obvious that you could have advanced yourself father and faster than you did. Particularly since Archer was the next in line above you. So, what hold did he have on you?"

Tucker took a deep breath. "I don't know what you mean, sir. I'm an engineer."

Kuchera snorted and started shuffling toward the exit. "I knew Admiral Black, you know."

Tucker, following behind, nearly missed a step. But he recovered quickly. "Of course, sir. I would expect a flag officer of your tenure to be familiar with all senior staff."

"I meant personally." Kuchera stopped and turned. "He told me that Archer specifically requested you for assignment on the _Enterprise_. I found that interesting, since Archer wasn't exactly inundated with friends. When I dug deeper I learned that you two had met several years previously, and in fact you had served briefly together aboard the _Yamamoto_." He paused. "Rather unfortunate, what happened to the _Yamamoto_."

"Yes, sir." Tucker stood stiffly, eyes fixed on the far wall.

"Of course, Captain Jeffries denied any wrongdoing. He claimed that the evidence was fabricated. But that was only to be expected." The old man smiled with his mouth. His eyes were not amused. "After that kind of malfeasance, a slow death in the arena was the only proper punishment. Don't you agree?"

"It's not my place to say, sir." Tucker said. Neither his voice nor his face revealed any emotion.

"Isn't it?" Kuchera looked at him. "Are you sure that you don't feel entitled to an opinion? After all, you were...," he paused significantly, "under his command."

"I am certain that the court acted properly, sir."

The old man rubbed his chin and considered for a moment. "Did they? Given the evidence presented, they could not have ruled otherwise I suppose. It was a stroke of luck for Black at least, since he was promoted to take Jeffries place. Which gave him the boost he needed to gain the admiralty."

"Admiral Black was a capable officer, sir." Tucker had not loosened a single muscle.

"It wasn't always like this, Tucker." Kuchera waited for a response that did not come. "Eighty years ago, when I was a young man, Terrans didn't treat each other this way. We were one people, fighting together against a galaxy full of enemies. Now..." He sighed and shook his head.

"Yes, sir," Was all Tucker could think of to say.

"You see, Tucker, your situation doesn't make sense." Kuchera said. "Forrester got command of _Enterprise _because he was the nephew of Black's cousin. Archer was posted there because he was Black's toady, and because Forrester and Black both thought they could control him. But why you? Why did Archer request you specifically? On _Yamamoto_ you were simply a lieutenant in engineering. You were nobody. So what caused Forrester to give you command of his engineering department?"

"I am afraid I can't ask him, sir."

Kuchera barked a laugh. "It's interesting though. Captain Jeffries had a brother, once. Did you know that? Ironically, the brother also came to a bad end. Tragedy seems to dog some families."

Tucker made no reply.

"His brother wasn't in Starfleet, he was a mid-level bureaucrat with Earthgov. In fact, he was assigned to the same district where you grew up. That's why I thought you might have known him." Kuchera waited.

An almost imperceptible flaring of Tucker's nostrils was the only response. Apparently it was enough to satisfy the old man.

"Well, then. Let's get this inspection over with, and get you back to work. As the empress said, we have a war to win." Kuchera turned back toward the exit. He was either unaware of, or ignored, Tucker's eyes fixed on the spot between his shoulder blades.

#

Krasen simmered with frustration. As janitorial staff, he might be considered a nonentity. But not even a floor cleaner was permitted to approach the shuttle deck while the top brass were disembarking.

He focused on the Disciplines, while to outward appearance he knelt in a corner working on a particularly stubborn stain. The number of guards waiting for Tucker and Kuchera was redundant to the point of ridiculous. In addition to their personal guards, Tucker had ordered an honor escort from station security. There would be no possibility of approaching close enough for the tiny explosive he carried to succeed. The chance of a sniper shot was nil. He would have to set a trap. But where?

Further information was needed. If nothing else he could penetrate Tucker's quarters and wait. Perhaps he would invite his guest for a private consultation. If not... Krasen fought back regret. If it absolutely could not be avoided, he might have to settle for only killing Tucker. Kuchera was anathema to every Vulcan. But Tucker was a clear and present danger to the entire rebellion.

He started working his way toward officer's quarters.

#

_"Have you managed to establish rapport with Lady T'Pol?"_

_"Not yet. I'm still working on gaining Tucker's trust. Only his closest assistants are permitted contact with his mate." _

_"He is suspicious of you?" _

_"No more than anyone else. In this century, paranoia is the price of life. I actually have an advantage. I think I remind him of his sister." _

_"Indeed? That is fortunate. I had not noticed a resemblance." _

_"It's not physical. It's the circumstances of the cover story. He feels sympathy. In any case, I have been reassigned to his personal clerical staff." _

_"Most excellent indeed. Can you give me a general status report?" _

_"Tucker has already progressed in his self-education program to the point of an Associate's degree. By this period's standards at least."_

_"Not surprising at all, given his intelligence quotient." _

_"And his motivation. Don't forget that." _

_"Your sense of humor is merciless. But I acknowledge the point."_

TBC


	23. Chapter 23

**Payment**

**By Blacknblue (aka Bluenblack)**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

**Note:** Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

**A/N:** Recall that Krasen has not been in touch with his people since before his rebel base was attacked. He knows nothing about T'Pol.

Payment Chapter 22:

The Human guards outside Tucker's quarters was alert and looked irritatingly competent. Krasen quietly continued cleaning his way past the women, avoiding eye contact. Possible weak points for insertion into the commodore's living quarters were not plenteous. Even if he could gain access to the ventilation system, it was likely that such an obvious pathway would be secured and defended – particularly on a Human station. Deck and overhead plates were secure, and would require tools that he did not possess in order to remove. The bulkheads were not worth considering.

Krasen came to the reluctant conclusion that killing the guards might be his only option. He gritted his teeth. Each time he killed, or made some other major disturbance, the probability of discovery more than tripled. Which meant that the probability of successfully completing his mission decreased by a factor of nine. He _really_ did not want to kill those guards. There had to be a weak point somewhere.

#

"He didn't even stop to talk to me." Anna sat glumly in her office, staring sightless at the terminal in front of her.

"He told me," Rostov offered, "that he had to get back for an inspection tour. Some high brass was poking around. Just wanted a quick look around anyway. You know how the boss likes to keep an eye on things."

"He knows, doesn't he?" Rostov didn't answer. "You told him?"

"You know better."

She raised her head and gave him a wan smile. "Yeah. I knew better." The bitterness was like a poison in her mouth.

Rostov's lips pressed together. "The boss had recorders running in his quarters. You thought he trusted the Vulcan enough to leave her unwatched for hours while he was on the station? You really thought he was that dumb?"

Anna froze. She closed her eyes and slumped back, feeling defeated. "No. I didn't think he was that dumb. I didn't think at all. Charles was right. He, and now you, are the only reasons I'm not already dead. He should have made you chief."

"I don't have the know-how." Rostov leaned forward. "Anna. No matter what else happens, we have to get the job done or we're all dead. I know you hurt. I know… I can see it. But we have to get this done for the boss's sake too. You remember what he said when Campbell went after you? If we don't get the job done, it's his ass the empress will come after."

She locked her teeth and nodded. "Yeah. No matter what, we gotta get it done." Anna looked up at him. "Let's go."

#

Krasen leaned against the bulkhead of a corridor adjacent to the rear of Tucker's quarters. Ostensibly, he was an exhausted human struggling to catch his breath. Actually he was attempting to listen in hopes of gaining information. To no avail, the soundproofing was perfect. Only to be expected. This station was a fortress first, a production facility, second. He gritted his teeth. There was no choice. He had checked all sides, above, and below without finding any weak point that would allow penetration of his target's living space.

Timing was going to be nerve-shattering. He couldn't simply kill the guards and penetrate the quarters. The missing guards would trigger an immediate alarm and search. The only way would be to linger in the vicinity until Tucker returned, and then strike like a torpedo.

Krasen forced himself to entertain optimism. He might still be able to kill Kuchera as well as Tucker. Surely a station commander would invite a distinguished visitor to his quarters for a private discussion, and perhaps a sample of his personal wine? He offered a silent prayer to the deathgod that it would be so.

#

T'Pol sat in meditation position, watching her candle with heavy-lidded eyes. The candle's presence was yet another mark of how her position with her mate had improved. She remembered his reaction to her request.

_"Why? What's wrong with that thing you always use?" he had asked._

_"The reflective crystal is a functional substitute, barely. But it does not provide the same benefit as a flame for concentration and emotional dissipation." _

_"Emotional what? Never mind. All right. You can have one, I said one, candle. No more than five centimeters long at most. It will be sitting on a solid base, surrounded by a pan of water, with an alumi-glass cover around it at all times. Clear?" _

_She had tried, with partial success, to suppress her surprised pleasure. "Clear. I am grateful." _

_"Don't__be.__The__deal__was,__you__would__get__the__chance__to__earn__some__privileges.__You're__doing__your__part,__helping__me__with__this__demon__cursed__math.__Hoshi__isn't__the__only__one__who__pays__debts__around__here.__All...__debts__… __You__better__remember__that."_

She had no intention of forgetting anything remotely associated with Tucker's temperament, psychology, or preferences. Improving her relationship with her mate was her primary objective in life, and would remain her primary objective for the foreseeable future. Both her child's welfare and her own survival depended on it.

Thus far their mating bond seemed to be having a remarkable, and unexpected, degree of influence on Tucker. She devoutly wished that he would permit her unrestricted access to his copy of Defiant's database, so that she could learn if such influence was typical in Vulcan-Human pairings. However, that was one privilege that she had emphatically *not* earned. Nor was she likely to be given such freedom any time soon. Bond or no bond, he still did not trust her.

She settled back into a more comfortable position and sank deeper, into the second level of meditation. She had more important matters to deal with at the moment. Her efforts at reverse-engineering the other universe's advanced shields were not proceeding with satisfactory speed. Heretofore, her understanding of practical mechanics had been limited to repair and maintenance of laboratory and testing equipment. She was chagrined to realize the full complexity of a starship's engineering systems. Her respect for her mate was increasing in direct proportion to her time spent wrestling with the problem.

At least the effort to extend his education was proceeding well. Another point that impressed her was the relative ease with which he was absorbing new concepts. Despite his initial difficulty, after Tucker managed to internalize the basic theoretical principles his learning curve had accelerated quickly. Very quickly. Once again, T'Pol was struck by how severely she had once underestimated this man.

It was an appropriate subject for the evening's meditation. She had a serious character flaw, and it needed to be adjusted. If she did not come to terms with it, she would likely end up dead. More important, she might easily get her child killed. She had underestimated Tucker. She had underestimated Archer, and by doing so had cost her co-conspirators their lives. Most recently, she had underestimated Hess. Was it possible that she had also underestimated Sato? An uncomfortable thought. But logic left her no recourse except to consider it.

She recalled that her mate regarded Mayweather with significantly greater respect and trepidation than he did the empress. Until recently T'Pol had perceived Mayweather as little more than a glorified bodyguard. Plainly her skill at assessing Human capabilities required honing.

The most probable source of her difficulty was her personal antipathy toward Humans. Whether or not her antipathy was justified carried no relevance. Her ingrained distaste for all things Human had dulled her wariness. As always, lack of emotional mastery was her undoing. It had been the downfall of her people throughout their history. And, as always, the solution to her weakness would be improved discipline. She must at all costs prevent her emotions from influencing her ability to evaluate a situation. No matter how distasteful she might find it.

For example, her mate required the loyal service of Rostov in order for his plans to succeed. To keep Rostov's loyalty, it was necessary that She be permitted to live for the present. T'Pol's revulsion at the thought was irrelevant. Tucker swore that he had not spoken to Her since the attack, nor did he intend to. He had also explained to T'Pol that his absence would encourage Her to seek solace from Rostov, further stabilizing the situation.

Therefore, T'Pol reluctantly concluded that killing Hess would have to be postponed until Tucker's position was unassailable. By that time, she might be mated to Rostov. In which case he would have to be killed as well. This would add an unfortunate level of complication, since her mate considered Rostov a highly valued servant. It might be several years before she was able to eliminate them both. However, she had plenty of time now.

Eliminating the empress and her consort was another matter entirely. Until she persuaded her mate to divulge the full details of his plan to her, she could not begin to make any preparations. Anything she did might inadvertently complicate his efforts. So she put it away to be considered later.

The intercom announced the return of her mate to the station. T'Pol's muscles locked rigid when she also heard Kuchera's name. Only the fact that she was already in the first level of meditation permitted her to maintain equilibrium. She immediately commenced the necessary exercises to descend into the second level. Her mate was already in a precarious situation, dealing with the head of the Terran High Command. The last thing he needed was to be swamped by her emotional storm. If need be, she could curse and smash something later.

As she submerged into the cooling depths of withdrawal, the bond connection tightened and strengthened. T'Pol noted that Tucker was already upset about something. She focused on their connection, concerned. His entire attention was engaged by the situation he was in, but she got the impression that his upset was due to Kuchera. T'Pol drew in her breath and started going deeper. Yes. Kuchera was the source. Anger. Fear. Danger. Threat. Kuchera had threatened him, somehow.

T'Pol turned inward and fought for control. She …_could__not_… rush out and kill Kuchera. It was not an option. The rage was an all consuming inferno that boiled in her blood like acid, but she must not, could not, would not surrender to it. Finally she fought her way back to mastery, shaking and feeling weakened.

Whatever the Butcher had done, her mate was not in physical danger at the moment. His body guards were present, and she had already seen the degree of loyalty that Tucker inspired in his servants. If they were willing to fight Mayweather for him, surely they would be willing to protect him against Kuchera. The fear she detected was not of immediate danger in any case. As she calmed down, she came to realize that it was fear of discovery. The Butcher had learned something dangerous, something that upset her mate badly.

T'Pol's mind raced in calculating options and extrapolating probabilities. She had always planned to eliminate the Butcher once her mate had taken power. That was a given. But it seemed that he would need to die sooner than anticipated. Excellent. In the depths of her mate's mind, her name had appeared. Tucker had a tentative plan in mind, and it involved her. She had obtained that much. Most excellent indeed.

All she could do was wait. T'Pol focused on the higher Disciplines and maintained the bond connection at its most sensitive level, waiting for impressions or possible instructions.

#

_"Alert. Danger." _

_"Specify."_

_"Vulcan aboard. Clandestine." _

_"Noted. Location? Description?" _

_"Not yet. Sensors detected Vulcan DNA, male. No match to any of the Council spies." _

_"Noted. Continue search. Security is already at maximum." _

_"A Vulcan hunter will almost certainly be a kamikaze." _

_"Confirm. You may be required to interdict the assassin alone." _

_"Not a problem. I've been getting stiff sitting on my butt here anyway." _

#

Krasen noticed that one of the Humans had passed him twice, giving him a searching look the second time. He needed to relocate immediately. He took his cleaning equipment to the cargo lift and pressed the code for maintenance storage. An extended visit to maintenance while he replenished his supplies would not excite comment. Meanwhile, the monitors used to track cleanup requests would allow him to trace Tucker's movements.

The maintenance deck was poorly lit and, paradoxically, the dirtiest part of the station. Krasen proceeded calmly to the nearest storage cabinet and began sorting through containers. Three other people were present, and none of them were interested in what he was doing. A wall of monitors displayed every non-restricted area of the station, with a crewman on duty to monitor conditions and dispatch cleanup personnel whenever a problem was detected. Senior officers frequently became disgruntled when they were inconvenienced by untended spills. Since maintenance work was often punishment duty to begin with, no one on the crew was anxious to provoke their superiors further than they already had.

Krasen glanced frequently at the monitors while gathering supplies. Tucker and the Butcher were on the observation deck, examining the two ships currently docked for upgrades. Perhaps he should find some way to remain-

"You. Crewman. With me." A small ensign stood with her hands on her hips, scowling at him. "Well? Move it." She spun and marched for the lift, instigating appreciative looks for herself and amused looks toward him.

Since she had not specified the nature of her problem, he grabbed a general purpose cart and trundled after her. Anything that kept him occupied doing unsuspicious work was desirable. She waited impatiently by the control panel until he boarded. As soon as Krasen was inside, the Human entered a code. The doors closed. She turned and fired. He collapsed, paralyzed, howling internally.

"Threat neutralized. I'm taking him into quarantine for scanning."

A pause.

"Not yet. I want to know how he penetrated this far. His disguise is nearly perfect. He had to come off one of those two ships. Find out which one, and we can close another breach."

Another brief pause.

"Why darling. You say the sweetest things." She chuckled.

Raging darkness took him.

#

"That pretty well sums it up, admiral," Tucker said. The two of them walked down the corridor from the mezzanine and into the former design section. "This is my administrative center. Used to be the design wing, but I needed the computer power and office space."

Kuchera's eyes glinted with amusement. "I'm well aware of your personnel shuffling, commodore. Painfully aware, believe me. If I have to hear… no matter. It seems that the empress and her consort agree with you, which settles the matter."

"And you, sir?" Tucker stood stiffly. "What is your opinion?"

Kuchera rubbed his chin. "I told you, commodore. The empress likes it this way, so that's all I need to know. But I can tell you that none of my children, or grandchildren, are design engineers."

Tucker inclined his head and turned to the drinks cabinet. "May I offer you some Saurian brandy? We also have a fine selection of Terran wine if you would prefer."

"You do yourself proud." Kuchera surveyed the racked bottles.

"Actually," Tucker took out a heavy bottle with a long neck, "these are leftovers from the previous occupants. I don't approve of drinking in an engine room, so they left them here."

The old man snorted. "I see." He looked at Tucker. "Are you trying to imply, Mr. Tucker, that the beloved descendants of my esteemed colleagues on the High Command were turning out shit because they were drunk on the job?"

"Oh no, sir." Tucker pasted on his best earnest expression. "I would never say something like that."

"Of course not." Kuchera looked at a guard. "Get us a couple of glasses, will you?" Tucker poured and Kuchera raised his drink. "Long live the empire."

Something changed in Tucker's eyes. "For the honor of the Terran people."

Kuchera's eyes narrowed, but he raised his glass willingly enough. "Excellent. I don't think I have ever tasted better."

"Captain Wasoon had excellent taste," Tucker said. His face darkened. "In all things."

#

_"Identity confirmed. The assassin is Krasen."_

_"Disquieting. Also inconvenient." _

_"Your talent for understatement would put Admiral Tulak to shame. What are we going to do with him? I can't kill him. Can I?"_

_"It would be highly desirable to avoid that option. If possible. Considering the role that Krasen played in the original timeline." _

_"I was thinking about recruiting him." _

_"Your penchant for joking at the most inopportune times-" _

_"I'm serious. Think about it. You know he's intelligent enough to grasp the principles. For the long term benefit of his people, he might very well go for it. Especially given the alternative." _

_"You..." _

_"What?"_

_"…..."_

_"Hun?" _

_"…..." _

_"Talk to me?_

#

T'Pol's self-disciplline had stretched to the snapping point, finally snapped, been forcibly re-established, and then re-stretched again by the time her mate finally made it back to their quarters. It was well after midnight when he staggered through the doorway. She met him with a cold beverage and a supporting arm, leading him to the desk where a full meal had just been placed.

"Damn," he muttered. "You can be useful sometimes after all." He upended the mug while she slipped behind to begin rubbing his shoulders. T'Pol still had not been able to obtain information regarding the compatibility of neuropressure with Human anatomy. But her research had turned up an approximate equivalent technique called massage therapy. Apparently this was a sub-set of standard medical practice in Defiant's universe, and she had spent several hours studying the texts and diagrams. Her mate's tension began to melt almost instantly, and she made a note to continue her study of this new art.

"I felt you," he said. "In the bond. Earlier today, when I docked." He took a bite of some type of disgusting animal product, and did not look up.

T'Pol chose her words with precision. "I detected your concern." He snorted. "I am ready to assist in any way you require."

Tucker put down his fork and raised his head. "Computer. Security lock alpha-red-one. Notify all stations that my quarters will be offline and out of contact until further notice. All communication through my bodyguards exclusively. Area shielding to maximum power and density. Activate lockdown in ten seconds from mark. Authorization Tucker-red-three-nine-orange-blue-blue-seven-omega-four."

"Acknowledged." The computer's normal bass voice had been altered to match the feminine voice of Defiant's computers. T'Pol wondered if that was a matter of esthetics, or functional necessity. "Authorization Tucker red-three-nine-orange-blue-blue-seven-omega-four accepted. Awaiting mark."

"Mark." The machine counted backward for ten seconds and sounded a chime. Her mate sagged slightly and took a deep breath. "We have maybe five minutes until everyone gets antsy." He stood up and led her to the bed. "Lay down here with me."

T'Pol blinked but submitted willingly. He was her mate, after all. And due to the bond, Tucker was the only male she had ever mated with who did not inspire revulsion. However he did not even loosen her clothing. Instead he laid on his side and pulled her close, as if seeking intimate comfort. Then he drew her face forward, as if to kiss. Instead, he tucked his mouth under her cheek. Buried between her head and the pillow, his lips would be invisible to any observer.

"Listen close and fast," he said, in a whisper that was barely audible even to her. "I'll ask some things. Just answer yes or no. That's all. Understand?"

"Yes," she said.

His breath was faint enough to barely stir the hair around her ear. She found it oddly stimulating, but shoved the thought aside. "I need to know about those head games of yours. How good at them can you be? Could you go into a Human mind that you never touched before, find things, maybe change things, and leave it so that no one would ever know?"

She hesitated. In a moment he asked, "Do you know?"

"No."

"All right." Her mate paused. "Are there other Vulcans who could do it?"

"Yes."

"Any that you know? That you would trust?"

"Yes… no."

She heard teeth grinding. "Listen close."

"Yes."

"Kuchera found out something. Travis wouldn't care. Hoshi would save it for leverage. But if Kuchera tells the wrong people, I'm screwed and so are my plans. And maybe we are all dead, including the kid. But I can't kill him. You got that so far?"

"Yes." Emphatically.

"It won't be long," he said. "Then it won't matter. But I need to know how much he found. I have to have at least that much. And I want to wipe it out of his memory. Come up with some suggestions and get back to me. If you can't think of anything, then we might try letting you dig it out. Could you do that, and cover your tracks? Just read him and leave him no wiser?"

She hesitated, then tapped his shoulder. He drew back, looking curious. T'Pol placed her mouth under his cheek and whispered, "If he were drugged, I could." She returned to her prior position.

He nodded and sat up. "Good enough. Think it through and let me know what you come up with. Meantime, I'm going to finish eating and hit the shower. Then get about four hours sleep."

TBC


	24. Chapter 24

**Payment**

**By****Blacknblue****(aka****Bluenblack)**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

**Note:** Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

PaymentChapter23:

**ANDORIAN COMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 4 DAYS, 3.5 HOURS**

T'Pol's mind blazed with purpose. While her hands quietly skimmed through the design plans for upgrading the NX class shielding, her true attention was focused like a phase cannon on the issue of General Kuchera. The Butcher.

It was not sufficient that he had destroyed T'Pol's family home, decimated her clan, conquered her world. Now, he dared to threaten her own mate and child directly. Only the certain knowledge of its futility kept her from breaking down the door to their quarters and going after him with her bare hands. Her Vulcan rage was crackling like a bonfire, barely contained by the most stringent regime of intense meditation that she could master.

Her mate had given her no details about the Butcher's damning knowledge. Only that it involved something he, Tucker, had done in years past to remove a personal enemy. It would not matter at this date, were it not for the fact that his dead enemy had been connected by blood to some in Starfleet who still held high rank. That explanation had been sufficient. The danger was clear.

There were no other Vulcans aboard Jupiter Station. No other non-Humans of any race, for obvious reasons. T'Pol had spent two days reviewing and analyzing all of the Vulcans she personally knew who might be capable of performing the meld that Tucker required. She had settled on nine possibilities. Of the nine, three were most likely dead. Four of the remaining six were on Vulcan itself, to the best of her knowledge.

She had considered, remembered, and gone over in meticulous detail everything she knew about the last two possibilities. Finally she had reluctantly concluded that neither of them could be trusted. It was not a matter of betrayal. Given the target, both of them would be overjoyed at the chance to move against Kuchera. Any Vulcan would. The problem lay in their inability to refrain from killing him.

One of the two was a young male, barely thirty-eight years old, whose mate had been slain by Humans during the rebellion. In the same battle he had lost an eye and a hand. The other was an elderly woman of more than two hundred years. She had personally lived through the original Human invasion, and had seen with her own eyes what Kuchera had done. It would have been too much to ask of her, to refrain from taking the revenge that she had waited so long to achieve.

T'Pol concluded that she would have to perform the meld herself. There was no logical justification for transporting her to Earth, much less for providing her with an opportunity to spend time alone with the Butcher. Therefore, he would have to be lured back to the station. Then, his bodyguards would have to be dealt with – and dealt with in such a way as not to arouse suspicion. Finally, they would need to administer the proper drug in a carefully calculated dose. The Butcher had grown old in gloating over his crimes. Too much sedative might easily kill him.

Her mate had emphasized repeatedly that killing Kuchera too soon would invoke disaster on all his plans. However, he had placated her with the promise of a rich reward. "Get this done for me. When the time comes, I'll give Kuchera to you for your personal play-toy." The mere thought had been enough to put her on her knees and unfastening his uniform in gratitude. Her lip twitched in amusement at the memory. Her mate was becoming increasingly receptive to her sexual advances. Most excellent.

Based on her research, keeping Tucker sexually satiated would go far toward sealing the biochemical aspect of their bond. For the rest, simply following her duty as a Vulcan mate would condition him to think of her as a source of comfort. Then finally, an ally. It would take time. But she had never expected to accomplish her goal swiftly.

She looked down and realized that she had just made a simple mathematical error. Her third in the past hour. Meditation could be deferred no longer. Regardless of the press of circumstance, she would be of no use to her family if she allowed herself to sink into gibbering emotional wreckage. Firmly suppressing a sigh, she moved to her meditation cushion and lit her precious candle.

After spending several minutes on fruitless breathing exercises, T'Pol realized that she was even more upset than she had realized. Closing her eyes, she focused inward. Find the root cause of the turmoil. Once the cause of the disturbance was clearly defined, it could be dealt with logically.

Fear. Of course. Once again, fear was interfering with her ability to function. She was afraid of what she needed to do, afraid that she would fail to perform the meld effectively. Her mate was confident in her ability, given that she had easily manipulated him during their time on _Enterprise_. T'Pol had refrained from pointing out to him that as her bonded mate, he was already predisposed to meet her desires. Such was the nature of the bond. Further, she had served with him for an extended period. She was already familiar with his mind and how it functioned. None of that applied to Kuchera. There was also the question of her discipline. Could she keep herself from killing him? No matter how sternly she warned herself, the feral rage would not stay down.

She placed her hands in the Kar'Tan'Li position and began silently reciting to herself a passage from the writings of Surak that she had always found helpful.

_Cast out fear. Nothing can be done until one has cast out fear. Fear weakens and paralyzes, leaving you helpless before your enemy. _

_Cast out rage. Rage is a fire that consumes the mind and scatters the will. Rage will make you no better than the Le'Matya who comes seeking prey. _

_How can you defeat your enemy? Your sword is sharp, but so is his. You are strong, but so is he. You must defeat him with your mind. The sword is but an extension of the hand. The hand obeys the mind. The mind obeys the will. You must keep your mind clear. Cleanse your will of wasteful emotion, so that it becomes as sharp and cold as a blade. Only then can your mind and your sword move as one to take your enemy's heart. _

T'Pol felt the tension seep away. She settled back and stared deeply into the flame, pouring her rage into the tiny fire.

#

Krasen blinked his eyes open. Darkness. Only a faint light before him, with shadows that passed back and forth. He was strapped in a chair, tightly. Arms, legs, body, and head were secured. He searched with his tongue. Of course, the suicide capsule was gone. His eyes narrowed and he turned his concentration inward, tightening his belly muscles. There was no resistance. He focused more deeply, surreptitiously testing his abdominal muscle groups in sequence. The ordnance had been removed as well. There would be no quick death for him, and no revenge. The best he could do was try for a death trance, while the Humans used their tools to keep him alive.

So be it. They would not break him. He would eventually die. He might even die screaming, if the Human interrogators were as skillful as some claimed. But he would not betray the insurrection.

A shadow moved closer and stopped in front of him, blocking the light in hulking silhouette.

_And so it begins._

"No doubt you are expecting torture," a man's voice said. "This will not occur. You might die, that remains to be seen. But you will not be tortured."

_What purpose could this lie serve? Humans are devious beyond belief, but this is simply foolish. _

"You don't believe us." The woman's voice was familiar. It was the one who had captured him. She was standing behind his right shoulder. Approximately two paces back, he judged. "It's only sensible that you wouldn't."

The man spoke again. "I'm going to brighten the lights slowly. Prepare yourself." The black surroundings faded into dark gray, then smoky dimness. Finally the ambient light settled at something close to human normal – dim by Vulcan standards but adequate.

The Human woman who had destroyed his hope walked into view carrying two chairs, which she placed in front of him. She seated herself with a grim smile and glanced across the room at her partner, who turned and headed for the remaining chair.

His male captor was quite large, by the standards of any Vulcanoid race. Yet he moved with the smooth grace of powerful muscles. For a Human, he would no doubt be exceptionally powerful. Krasen made note of it, not that he anticipated getting the chance to use the information. Still, giving up was a non-productive option. There was always the remote chance of a surprise attack, or perhaps a meteor strike, to give him a chance at escape.

He was grasping at the faintest of straws. Krasen chuckled softly at his daydreams and settled back in the chair, deliberately presenting an appearance of unconcern. If his last fight was to be psychological, he would deliver the pre-emptive strike.

"You were too late." He looked at the Human woman with bared teeth. "The virus is already in the air supply. The bomb I carried was merely a secondary option in case my... in case I was unsuccessful. I should have left already, but when the Butcher arrived, the temptation to watch him die was too much for me." He shrugged. "It will not matter in the long run."

"Neatly delivered." The big man nodded approvingly. "Unfortunately for your story, we traced your arrival point and your path through the station. No virus was released, our instruments would have detected it."

"You overestimate Human technology," Krasen replied smugly.

"You also came alone," the woman added, ignoring his rejoinder. "That was a nice touch, the subtle hint that you had a cohort and you were trying to cover a slip. Very nice. Your record did not lie about your ability to adapt quickly, Krasen."

He froze.

"Yes, Krasen, we know your name," the man said. "We know more about you than you might believe possible. You were born in space, aboard the transport ship Theron's Blade outbound from Vulcan to the colony world of Carra IV. Your mother was S'Lanna, a microbiologist. Your father was Herrin, an agronomist. You are 71.3 Empire Standard years old. Your parents returned to Vulcan, following the empire's attack on Carra IV and the near decimation of the colony there. You have no siblings."

"The empire keeps careful records." Krasen managed to hold his voice steady. Inwardly he was fighting to retain control. They knew how to find his parents. How? His DNA had been scrambled by injections from the Andorians, and his retinal patterns were long since altered by rebel healers, at the time of his cosmetic surgery. His fingerprints had been burned off years ago. How had they identified him?

"Look around you." The woman gestured around the room. "Does this place look like a typical empire holding cell?"

"Irrelevant." Krasen's eyes barely flickered. "You brought me here for your own purposes. No doubt it provides resources to assist your interrogation."

The male settled back and put his fingertips together. "Logical." He looked at the woman. "Argument is futile. Nothing will impress him other than direct proof."

She looked rueful. "This always uncomfortable." She looked at her partner. "Brace yourself." He inclined his head. Then the woman leaned forward and placed a fingertip on the back of Krasen's hand, narrowing her eyes in concentration.

He jerked backward in a reflex spasm of shock, followed instantly by raging disbelief. "What drugs did you administer while I was unconscious, to trigger such hallucinations?"

She growled. "Suspicion is one thing. Even paranoia might be considered justified, under the circumstances. But the Vulcan dedication to ignoring reality gets tiresome."

"You perceive," the man said, not separating his hands, "that we are not entirely as we appear. Nor are your presumptions accurate. We do not support the rebellion. But we are not affiliated with the empire."

Krasen continued silently reciting the first level disciplines to himself and forced his muscles to relax. "Humans? Not affiliated with the empire?" His sneer said more than his tone.

"Only part Human actually," the woman said. Krasen locked his jaws and met her eyes.

"Part Human? The probability of a hybrid not being a member of the rebellion is extraordinarily low, given the empire's attitude toward mixed-bloods." Krasen felt his nostrils expand, despite his best efforts to contain himself. It was useless. Not being female, his sense of smell could not pick out details from either of them.

"In most cases, you are correct," the man stated. "We are exceptions."

"I'm part Betazoid," the woman told him.

Krasen stared. "I thought Betazoids were nearly extinct." His mind raced. Perhaps what he had felt when she touched him was not a trick. Betazoids were superficially identical to Humans.

"They are nearly extinct." Her mouth tightened. "Except for a few who managed to infiltrate Human society. Despite the official position of the High Command, most worker class Humans have no particular antipathy toward aliens. Betazoids in particular have little difficulty assimilating."

"And you are Betazoid also?" Krasen looked at the man.

"No. I am different type of hybrid." He finally pulled his hands apart and leaned forward. "My mate and I are here to monitor events, and assist them in progressing to the conclusion we desire. We have determined that you hold the potential to assist us, should you choose to do so. Therefore, we have postponed your execution in order to offer you this opportunity."

Krasen smiled grimly. "Surely you can do better than such a crude offer. A simple trade, betray my people or die? Can you really anticipate that I would agree?"

"Of course not," the woman twisted her mouth and shot the man a vexed look. "My husband has all the negotiating skill of a drunken Tellarite." She looked back at Krasen. "We intend to change the empire, not destroy it. Your rebellion is understandable, given the provocation that the subject races have endured. But your anger has blinded you. My Human ancestors would say that you have chosen a cure which is worse than the disease."

"Even if you succeeded," the man interjected, "which you will not, you will simply leave the quadrant in a state of chaotic helplessness. Easy prey for the first alien empire that decides to move in and take possession."

"Trust us," the woman picked up the conversation. "There are worse things in this galaxy than the Terran empire. A dismally high number of things. Especially a Terran empire that has been carefully modified."

"So the pair of you are going to modify the entire empire?" Krasen's ironic sneer provoked nothing more than a small sigh from the woman, and no response at all from the man.

"Actually," she said, "we are field agents for a larger group. If you join us, you will gradually become aware of the full scope of our operation. If you choose not to join us, of course..." She held up both empty palms.

"Suppose I believe what you tell me." Krasen settled back watchfully. He was beginning to accept that they were not representatives of Imperial Intelligence. Her touch had certainly triggered what felt like an empathic contact. Brief but unmistakable. It was ludicrous to think that the High Command would permit one tainted by alien genes to join their elite ranks. Especially a Betazoid. Whatever common Humans thought, the upper ranks of Starfleet regarded empaths with a loathing born of horror.

Whatever their reasons for bringing him here, every second that passed provided him additional time. Time to assess the area, assess his captors, plan a possible escape. It was to his advantage to extend this farce as long as possible.

"I am willing to listen," Krasen told her. He glanced at the man, who watched with coldly analytical eyes. "Convince me."

"Have you seen the specifications on the new Human ship? The _Defiant_?" The man leaned forward slightly.

Krasen tightened. "I have."

"Have you heard the official explanation about how the Humans obtained it?" The woman stood up and walked behind him again, returning with a glass of water. She sat and sipped it while Krasen considered the optimum answer to her question.

"I have... heard... many... different explanations," he finally said.

"No doubt," the man put his hands on his thighs. "Are you familiar with the theory of the multiverse? The concept of alternate universes?"

"Of course," Krasen shifted in irritation. "This is basic childhood physics."

"Dependent upon this premise is the theory of alternate time lines," the woman said. "One traditional example is of a road forking. A travel takes the left fork and time continues onward. But in the alternate time line, he takes the right fork and time continues onward in a different manner. Both events happen, both are equally real. But they are imperceptible to each other, insulated by the fabric of the universal matrix."

"You are saying that the rumors of _Defiant_ being from another universe are true." Krasen kept his voice flat. "This is unlikely in the extreme."

The man permitted his mouth to curl up slightly. "Do you deny the existence of _Defiant_? If you do not, then there are a limited number of options for explaining its presence. Either the Humans here and now built it. Or there is another race here and now who built it and from whom they obtained it. Or it came from another timeline."

"The problem," the woman's eyes had an impish sparkle, "is that the first two possibilities are impossible. If the Humans here and now could have built it, they would have been building better ships than the NX class long before now. If there were another race within travel distance who could have built _Defiant_, one similar enough to Humans for them to simply step aboard and take over the craft effortlessly, surely everyone would have known of them long before now. Do you dispute this?"

Krasen locked his teeth together for a moment. Finally he said, "You believe the Human's boasting then? That the Tholians brought the ship over from another universe, and the Humans here took it from them? That makes no more sense, really, than the first two options you mentioned." He looked around the bare room, trying to find a focus point for his thoughts. The man's pedantic voice pulled his attention back.

"You raise a valid objection," the man said. "If the Tholians are powerful enough to cross between universes, and if they are capable of retrieving technology as advanced as _Defiant_ from those universes, why were the Humans here able to defeat them?"

Krasen's eyes narrowed. "Exactly." He tried to shift slightly without making it obvious. The Human build chair was uncomfortable on his spine.

"These are excellent questions," the woman smiled. "The answer is simple. The Tholians didn't bring it through. We did. The Tholians simply found it."

#

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH 3 DAYS, 19.25 HOURS**

Tucker concentrated on maintaining an arrogantly erect posture as he sauntered back toward his quarters at 02:35 hours. He had been on duty for 43 hours straight, and only raw willpower plus gallons of truly vile coffee were keeping him upright.

But they had finished the upgrades for three more NX ships, and the station was finally back on schedule. Again. Not that it would help. He was certain that her glorious majesty would soon be on the comm demanding that they push the schedule forward. Again.

Sometimes he really wished he had taken Hess up on her offer to place him on the throne. Except that if she had, he would be getting less sleep than he was now. At least then if someone harassed him, he could order them shot.

He acknowledged the salutes of his beta shift guards with an arm that could barely move, and stepped into a wall of warmth. At times like this he didn't regret giving T'Pol clearance to set the ambient temperature ten degrees above Human standard. She headed for him with a steaming mug that turned out to contain chicken broth. Another perk of a having telepathic bond with the cook. Or rather, with the replicator operator.

He sank into his desk chair, feeling like he was going down into quicksand, and sipped the golden elixer. She started her nightly backrub and he leaned forward on the desk, groaning in relief.

"You cannot continue in this manner," she said. "You are near collapse. If you become incapable of performing your duties, the empress will dispose of you. You must delegate more."

"Don't you get tired of repeating yourself?" He leaned back and picked up the mug again.

"I do indeed," she said. T'Pol walked around and propped herself on the desk, resting one knee on the edge. She was wearing her night gown, one of his undershirts, and apparently nothing else. Even at the point of collapse, the display she put on caused a tingle. But he was too tired to take a shower, much less anything more ambitious.

"However," she continued, "I will continue to repeat myself in alternate forms until I manage to convince you. Your survival is critical to more people than simply yourself. It is also vital that your judgment not be influenced by fatigue toxins."

"You're right." He forced a crooked grin. "In four days I can cut back. Right now, the admiral wants the fleet ready and he's not interested in excuses."

Her eyebrows pulled together. "You truly consider Mayweather to be more dangerous than the empress, don't you? Why?"

He looked at her. "You aren't made to understand it if I tried to explain it. It's a Human thing. Just take my word for it, will you? Travis is twice as smart as Hoshi, he's as patient as running water, and he's got the reflexes of a scalded snake. Travis could run the empire by himself, but he doesn't want to. Without Travis, Hoshi wouldn't last a week."

"I must accept your assessment." She stood up, making sure to keep her shoulders pulled well back. "Will you eat?"

"Too tired." He upended the mug gratefully. "Thanks for the soup. It helped."

"There is no reason to thank me for doing my duty." She took the mug and helped steady him on the way to the head. After a fumbling effort at tooth brushing, Tucker half staggered his way toward the bunk. T'Pol dimmed the lights and joined him. Once she was under the sheet, he turned and drew her close, sticking his mouth next to her ear.

"Well?" He pulled back and kissed his way along her jaw and around to her mouth, then across to the other side. Which conveniently left her mouth next to his bottom ear.

"No alternatives. I must do it." He paused a half second, then nipped her shoulder in warning.

"Remember," he whispered into her ear. Then licked it. She shivered.

"Of course." He could barely hear her. Then he felt her hands moving, which made it even harder to focus on what she was saying. "Nothing must interrupt the smooth flow of production."

"Yeah." He drew in a deep breath, which turned into a yawn. "Later. Too tired."

"Rest." She touched his face with two fingers. "I will soothe your way into slumber." Her hand slid downward. "Rest husband. Sleep." She was really getting good at that. Of course, being able to get direct feedback from his nervous system helped. It didn't take long at all.

Darkness came softly.

#

Krasen stared at them suspiciously. "You are responsible for the presence of _Defiant_? You expect me to believe this?"

"Someone is responsible," the woman said. "Why not us? Did you think the Human gods gave it to them in a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder?"

He stopped cold. Indeed. Someone was responsible for the ship's presence. He had no data to assign a probability regarding the nature of the one's who had caused it. These people could just as easily be responsible as any other. Or not.

Based on your prior implications," Krasen said, "I am left to conclude that you are both from an alternate universe. Is this your claim?"

"Not strictly," the woman said. "We are from this universe. But from a point in the future of this timeline."

"If you wish to speak strictly," the man looked at her. "We are no longer from this particular timeline. Actions that we have taken since our arrival have irrevocably altered the course of events."

She sighed. "Of course, darling. You are strictly correct. As always." He smirked. "And wipe off that shit-eating grin or you can sleep on the deck tonight." His face blanked instantly. She turned back to Krasen. "For practical purposes, you can consider us from your own future. While _Defiant_ is, in fact, from an alternate timeline."

"Why?" Krasen was becoming more puzzled with each statement. Nothing this pair said made any sense. But the fact that they were trying to convince him made even less sense. Was that the purpose? Some devious Human plot to unseat his reason?

"Why what?" She smiled wryly. "Why did we come? Why did we bring _Defiant_ through from another universe? Why are we telling you this?"

"Yes." Krasen waited. His captors shared a look.

"This will take some time," the man said.

TBC


	25. Chapter 25

**Payment**

**By****Blacknblue****(aka****Bluenblack)**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

**Note:** Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

Payment Chapter 24:

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH 3 DAYS, 19.0 HOURS**

"Why?" Krasen was becoming more puzzled with each statement. Nothing this pair said made any sense. But the fact that they were trying to convince him made even less sense. Was that the purpose? Some devious Human plot to unseat his reason?

"Why what?" The woman smiled wryly. "Why did we come? Why did we bring _Defiant_ through from another universe? Why are we telling you this?"

"Yes." Krasen waited. His captors shared a look.

"This will take some time," the man said. "Time that we presently do not have. It was unfortunate that this meeting required both of us to leave the station. We must return before our absence is noticed."

"For the moment," the woman said, "take it that we come from a point in history when the alpha quadrant has been overrun by an empire that is far worse than the Terrans. That's putting it mildly. Our objective is to strengthen the Terran empire by purging it of the internal weaknesses that resulted in our future coming to pass."

"Why would I agree to strengthen the Terrans?" Krasen shifted and gritted his teeth. His head was pounding. "All of this is madness. The longer you speak, the less sense you make."

The man stood up. "You might agree to strengthen the empire for one overriding reason," he said. "Because Vulcan will fare much better as a highly favored vassal of Terra, than she would as the raped and plundered slave of Cardassia."

The woman also stood up. "For now we must leave it at that." She touched a control and a transporter took effect. When Krasen's vision cleared he, and the chair, were in a small room that resembled a metal box. A bare bunk was attached to one wall. The opposite wall was adorned with a waste disposal unit and a wash basin. There was no visible exit, nor did there seem to be any ventilation duct. The chair's restraints opened and the man's voice came from an unidentifiable source.

_"I recommend against attempting to escape. You are sealed within the heart of an asteroid, and the only exit is via transporter. There is no method for triggering transport within the cell. Any attempt to modify the mechanisms of your confinement unit might disable the life-support system. It will be no less than 52, and not more than 69 hours before either of us are able to return. The basin will provide generous water. You will be fed upon our return. I suggest deep meditation, but the choice is yours." _

The woman's voice added, _"Think about what we said. If you are still willing to listen, I am willing to offer more proof next time we talk. Sleep well."_ A click sounded, then silence.

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH 3 DAYS, 11.25 HOURS**

The turbolift slid open and Travis rotated the captain's chair to face it. "Request permission to step aboard the bridge, admiral," Tucker said.

"Granted." Mayweather gestured. "Let me see those specs you were talking about."

Tucker obediently walked over and and handed him a PADD. "The upgrade is based on a minor modification of the units that were used in _Defiant's_ universe during the last years of the twenty-second century. It offers a ten percent increase in range over current pulse rifles, the destructive power is fifteen percent greater, and the power pack is only six grams heavier."

Travis scanned the PADD with interest. "This looks promising." He glanced up. "Well done, Commodore. When did you find time to work on this?"

Tucker stood straight. "General Kuchera expressed a particular interest in pulse rifle upgrades, sir. It didn't require a tremendous amount of extra work. Unfortunately, this is the best we can do with our current manufacturing base."

Travis nodded thoughtfully. "You seem interested in earning the general's good opinion, Tucker."

"I am, sir," Tucker said. "The general is a remarkable man."

"Yes." Travis looked at him closely. "He is." After a moment the admiral said, "I will pass this on to him. He might decide to come back up and try out a prototype. Will that be a problem?"

"No, sir," Tucker said. "No problem at all. I will prepare a prototype, just in case."

"Do that," Travis said. "I'll try it out myself as soon as you get it done. Dismissed."

"Yes, sir," Tucker did an about face and headed for the turbolift, trying to suppress his sweat by sheer willpower. Once the lift door closed he wiped his forehead and took a shaking breath.

_My nerves are shot. I have to move on to phase three soon, or cut my throat. I can't take much more of this._

His guards were waiting when the lift arrived at the transporter deck. When he walked out all five of them snapped to attention and, paradoxically, un-tensed noticeably. Tucker gestured and they fell in around him with smooth precision. "Parker," he said, "did that medic run a full tox screening on Drew? Is he sure that it was a simple allergic reaction?"

"That's what he claimed, sir," the young guard said, looking grim. "With your permission, sir. We can go back and make sure."

"Easy, Parker," Tucker lifted a hand and stopped just outside the transporter room door. "If he's telling the truth, it won't accomplish anything to scare him and Drew should be back on duty tomorrow. If he's lying, we'll know soon enough and you can all take turns at him." He pressed the door button.

"Thank you, sir," Parker said. Ugly smiles broke out all around Tucker. Drew was the most respected guard commander that Tucker had ever had. The rest of his bodyguard were not taking his illness well.

Three of them moved ahead into the room, giving it a quick check before signaling that it was safe for Tucker to enter. The technician on duty saluted respectfully, which Tucker returned. "How are things, Billie?" he asked. "Any trouble?"

"Not to speak of, sir," she said. She glanced around and casually pressed two buttons. "Cole is getting crazier, sir. Even the empress is starting to notice. I don't think it will be too long before she self-destructs." She keyed the buttons again. "So everything seems to be on schedule."

Tucker nodded. "Good to hear. Let me know if you need anything." His first three guards mounted the pad. "Energize." In a moment the all clear signal came and Tucker stepped up, along with the other two bodyguards. They materialized in the transport alcove aboard Jupiter station.

"Welcome back, sir," Ensign Eric Hess stood waiting with a PADD.

Tucker nodded. "Report."

Hess said, "Crew three on the torpedo upgrade detail needs a new welder. That junk they sent up from the planet blew out half its circuits before they finished the first mounting rack. Otherwise all is on schedule at the moment."

"Always something," Tucker muttered. "All right, take the spare welder from stores and rig up some kind of mounting for it. It's twice the size of what they need, but in zero gee they can make do."

"Yes, sir," Hess said. Tucker headed out, taking deep breaths.

_Is it worth it? Really worth it?_

He moved into the corridor and started toward command central.

_Yeah. It's worth it. I haven't forgotten, dad. _

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH 3 DAYS, 6.5 HOURS**

T'Pol straightened from her improvised chem lab apparatus. Two seconds later the door parted and Tucker walked through, wearing his all-too-familiar expression of total exhaustion. She moved smoothly to the replicator and ordered coffee while he dug two sample jars out of his pocket and set them on his desk.

"Here's the last ingredient and the catalyst," her mate said. "How's the rest of it?"

"Progress is acceptable," she said, handing him the mug. He took it gratefully and starting pouring it down. She transferred the reagents to her work table and turned back. "Will you eat and rest?"

He shook his head, to her chagrin but not to her surprise. "No time. Three days left and five ships still to upgrade. We're not gonna make it, but we won't miss it by much. As long as we don't miss the deadline by more than half a day, Travis won't let Hoshi shoot anybody since what put us behind is those new torpedo mounts." He put down the empty mug and took a deep breath. "Thanks for the coffee."

A tingle of satisfaction worked through her, as it always did when he expressed appreciation for her efforts on his behalf. "You would be able to work with greater efficiency if you were properly fed," she offered.

"Maybe," he said, "but I won't work at all if I'm kicked out the airlock. Once the fleet takes off, I'll eat half a pig and sleep ten hours. All right?"

"Unlikely." She stopped herself at the precipice edge of sighing. "You habits are too deeply channeled. I would be satisfied with two full meals a day and six hours of sleep a night."

He chuckled. "No, you wouldn't. Don't lie." He gave her a look that lacked any trace of hostility. Her breath stalled in excitement.

_It is working! The reference works are correct. The biochemical bond is forming. _

T'Pol carefully touched her lip with the tip of her tongue. This was a non-verbal sexual signal that she had been practicing ever since they arrived on the station. Feedback through the bond informed her that her technique was improving. She put her hand on Tucker's arm and felt the bond heat in response. He quirked the corner of his mouth and removed her hand, but not roughly.

"Later," he said. "I need to get back to work. You ready to use the delivery system?"

"Yes," she said. "The new transporter technology is significantly simpler to use, and includes multiple redundant fail-safes." She paused. "You are certain that this mixture will accomplish your objective?"

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "If the database wasn't lying, yeah," Tucker said. "Should put him into a semi-coma without any strain on his heart. And in five minutes it will dissolve and be untraceable. They used it for Intel ops in Defiant's universe."

"I don't recall any references in _Defiant's_ database regarding Intelligence gathering methods," she had told him, feeling puzzled.

"Good," her mate had said. "You weren't supposed to." She blinked. "Be ready as quick as you can. The signal could come any time."

"Acknowledged." T'Pol watched her mate leave with a distracted expression. Tucker must have decrypted those portions of the database listed as Top Secret, which had defeated her best efforts. She was impressed yet again, and well pleased. A father of such proven intelligence would be valuable to their child, both genetically and pragmatically.

Tucker's plan to isolate the Butcher for application of the mind meld was elegantly simple. But it was her responsibility to execute the pragmatic details. She moved back to the workbench and began mixing ingredients. Two hours should suffice. Then all she had to do was wait.

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH 3 DAYS, 4.5 HOURS**

"Attention!"

Tucker's bodyguard detail snapped as one man into stiffly upright postures. He followed suit and waited, fist on chest, in the middle of the corridor as Travis approached with his own entourage. The admiral stalked along the corridor with lethal effortlessness. His leading guards pushed past Tucker and took position with their weapons trained on the commodore's escort, scowling. The friction caused by Tucker's people killing the admiral's previous guards was not likely to subside in the foreseeable future.

Mayweather stopped and examined Tucker, then glanced at the weapon case on the floor between them. "You're certain the prototype is perfected?"

"Yes, sir," Tucker said. "I tested it myself earlier today."

Mayweather nodded. "Good. Bring it then. You are going to demonstrate it for me."

"Of course, sir." Tucker scooped up the case and fell in behind the admiral, having expected this. There was no way that Travis would put his hand on a prototype until Tucker demonstrated that it wasn't going to blow up in his face. They moved along the corridor to a down ramp, and into one of the larger testing labs. Two pairs of slender posts were positioned near the outer wall, with a heavily reinforced barrier of hull metal behind them. The group stopped and Mayweather shot him a curious look.

"Each pair," Tucker explained, "contain a set of emitters for a type one force field. The kind that Intel says are typically used by the insurrection for ground unit defense." He knelt and opened the case, pulling out a slender rifle, shorter than the standard pulse weapon and equipped with a side mounted instrument panel. "May I ask for the loan of a pulse rifle, sir? I want to demonstrate the relative performance characteristics. Or perhaps you would prefer to have one of your guards take the shot?"

Travis turned his head. "Sandoval. Here."

A MACO stepped forward and gave Tucker a lethal glare. "Awaiting orders, sir," Sandoval said stiffly. Mayweather's lip twitched and he pointed at Tucker. Sandoval's teeth gritted, but he turned to face the commodore and waited.

"Just a five second burst at the left hand force field," Tucker told him. "Full power." He stepped back two paces to get behind the hulking MACO. There was no sense piling on the temptation, after all.

Sandoval shouldered his weapon and activated it. Energy bolts ripped through the air, screaming across the lab to smash into the force field in blazing shockwaves. When he lowered the pulse rifle, the shimmering distortion between the posts appeared unchanged.

"Now, admiral," Tucker said. "This is what the upgrade can do." He casually took aim and squeeezed the activator toggle. A bright beam left the weapon with a quiet hum. It lanced across the room and sliced into the force field like an ancient straight razor cutting a throat. Sparks flew, smoke poured from the emitters, and one of the posts burst into flame. Automatic fire suppression systems instantly sprayed foam onto the spot, leaving nothing but a deeply scorched mark on the hull metal backstop.

Travis grinned and walked over. "Now, this, I like." He took the rifle from Tucker and examined it curiously. "How did you manage to get this kind of increase in power?"

"Actually sir," Tucker said, "there isn't much of an increase in real power. What the upgrade does is improve efficiency. Instead of using a portion of the power unit to contain and focus the pulse, this unit uses a more efficient algorithm to integrate and fine tune the harmonic interaction between the electromagnetic fields. It does all of that before the power ever starts to flow. You get substantially more power left over to apply to the beam."

Travis raised an eyebrow at him. "I see you've been hitting the text books. Good. Keep it up. Meanwhile, I'll tell the general that we have a new toy for him." He paused in mid-turn and spoke without looking at Tucker. "Whatever you have in mind with Kuchera, proceed with extreme caution, commodore. He hasn't survived this long by being stupid. Don't make me break in a new Station commander."

"Acknowledged, sir," Tucker stood rigid while Mayweather walked out with his escort.

TBC


	26. Chapter 26

**Payment**

**By****Blacknblue****(aka****Bluenblack)**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

**Note:** Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

Payment Chapter 25:

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH 3 DAYS, 1.0 HOUR**

Commodore Tucker keyed the lock to his quarters and moved inside on numb feet. He stopped and blinked dimly at the meal laid out on his desk. "No way."

T'Pol took his arm and urged him forward. "Yes. Even through your exhaustion, I can feel your hunger. I will assist you. It is soup, bread, and soft vegetables, all in moderate amounts. Afterward, I will assist you with a shower. Then you will sleep."

He tried to chuckle, but lacked the strength. "That sounded like an ultimatum."

"It was. Sit." She gently pressed him into the chair and spooned up a dose of soup. He opened his mouth to object, and she briskly stuck it between his lips. He swallowed by reflex and closed his eyes, savoring it.

"All right." Tucker looked at her. "But I can feed myself. I'm not that far gone yet."

"Perhaps not." She propped on the edge of the desk. "I will maintain watch to confirm this." He quirked his mouth and started eating, picking up enthusiasm as he went. By the time Tucker finished the tray, he was actually chewing normally. T'Pol watched in satisfaction. "Now," she said, "a hot shower."

He fell asleep twice under the water, but she managed to keep him upright long enough to get somewhat clean. The combined effect from the warm air dryers and her towel work hit him harder than a stun beam. T'Pol ended up half carrying her mate to the bed and tucking him under the sheet like a child. She stepped back and surveyed the sight.

Unaccustomed responses struggled to break through her control. Not acceptable. Surrendering to emotion had brought her to disaster before, more than once. She dared not risk allowing it to happen again. For her child's sake. For her own sake. Even for her mate's sake. Her logic must remain pure and intact. Above all else, she must not permit emotion to interfere with her clarity of thought.

T'Pol lifted her chin and turned to fetch her candle. A brief period of meditation before retiring would help her maintain equilibrium.

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH 2 DAYS, 18 HOURS**

Tucker and the honor guard snapped to attention and saluted as the shuttlepod opened. The first contingent of the general's bodyguards had already beamed over an hour in advance to perform a thorough sweep of the area. They moved into position and formed a belligerent circle, facing outward, as Kuchera stepped unsteadily out of the craft.

The old man tried to catch his breath and wheezed, "Permission to come aboard, commodore."

"Permission granted, sir. Welcome back." Tucker brought his arm down and bowed. "We're honored by a second visit so soon."

Kuchera snorted and waved it away. "I wanted to see this rifle upgrade as soon as I could. At my age I don't have time to fritter away. And I certainly wasn't going to demand that the empress release you from your duties here to play courier. Admiral Mayweather tells me that you have produced something remarkable."

Tucker spoke carefully. "The admiral is gracious. I can only leave it up to his and your judgment, to determine the value of the upgrade." He tried to inject just the right note of fawning hero worship, without overdoing it.

Kuchera eyed him narrowly, then nodded. "Let's have a look at it, then."

"The prototype is in my main testing lab," Tucker said. "It's under guard by my most trusted people. I've ordered a cart for you convenience, sir. If you will join me, our guards can walk alongside. It's not far."

The old man nodded. Tucker gestured, and a small transport sled pulled up, driven by Helen Simpson. She pulled to a stop and slid off, offering her arm to the decrepit general so he could have some leverage to climb aboard. Kuchera settled onto the bench and shot Tucker a glance as he joined them. "Let's go, Helen."

"Yes, sir." She activated the motor and the sled lifted ten centimeters off the floor with a faint hum. A feather touch on a control level sent it moving forward at a snail's pace.

"Isn't she a bit young to be serving on a station, commodore?" Kuchera's face bore no expression, but his tone was disapproving.

"Yes, sir," Tucker looked at him. "That's what I thought, when I learned that the station's previous commander had conscripted her from Earth. But since she is here, I decided to put her on my personal staff. I thought it was safer."

Kuchera's brow smoothed. At least as much as it was going to smooth, given the valleys and folds that marked it. "Wassoon. Should have known. That man... never mind." He settled back. "I'm amazed that you found the time to produce this prototype, given your work load."

"The main improvement is in the software," Tucker said. "Most of that was already invented. The design I used is an adaptation of a weapon style that was standard issue in Defiant's universe at a time frame a few decades in our future. I modified the control programs to make them compatible with our hardware configuration." He shrugged. "All I did to the hardware was a little fine tuning. It didn't take as long as I originally expected."

Kuchera looked impressed. "In less than a month, you've done more to improve Starfleet's arsenal than the entire R&D department managed to accomplish in the past twenty years." He chuckled, but it didn't sound amused. "Small wonder the design engineers are cursing you." Kuchera gave Tucker a calculating look. The cart pulled to a next to a pair of double doors.

The lab had been cleaned and repaired since the last demonstration. The commodore ordered his guards to wait in the corridor. "With me, the general, and his bodyguards, there's barely gonna be room to walk as it is. Just hold the fort out here until we finish." They didn't like it one bit, and their faces showed it. But they obeyed. Reluctantly. With much glowering.

"You're a trusting soul, Mr. Tucker?" Kuchera asked idly. He watched as Tucker removed the prototype from its case and checked the energy readings, make a few minor adjustments.

"Not generally, sir, no." He looked up at the old man. "But I try not to be an idiot. If you wanted me dead, I would be dead already. Since you don't want me dead, your guards are at least as effective as mine. And they won't be tripping each other this way."

Kuchera barked a laugh of appreciation. "So, what can this little toy of yours accomplish?" He watched with keen interest as Tucker demonstrated the various power settings of the new weapon, finally duplicating his feat of the day before and blasting through a type one force field.

The old man slapped his thigh in delight. "Yes! By the rotted bones of Zephram Cochrane, that was worth the trip up here just to see." He turned, grinning like a child at Christmas. "Let me see that thing, boy. I've got to try a few shots." He took the rifle eagerly. As Kuchera's hand closed around the stock he winced and released it for an instant, glancing at his hand.

"Is something wrong, sir?" Tucker looked concerned and stepped forward. Instantly, one of the guards stuck a phase pistol in his face, while two more closed in on the general protectively.

"No, no, no." Kuchera grimaced and glared at his guards. "Back off, all of you. What? A man isn't allowed to have a twinge of arthritis?" He looked at Tucker. "There's always a price, boy. Be warned. Enjoy your youth while it lasts. Once you get past the century mark, the aches and pains really start to kick in."

"Yes, sir," Tucker said.

"Now, how do I adjust the settings on this thing?" Kuchera tweaked the controls, then turned and took aim at the second target. He spent several minutes playing with the weapons until the power pack was completely spent. "Hm. That wasn't bad at all. Last longer than I expected. Went faster than a standard rifle, naturally." Kuchera handed the weapon back. "Do you have the specs ready for me to take back?"

"Yes, sir," Tucker told him. "And the prototype as well, if you want it."

Kuchera chuckled. "You know the answer to that, young man." He took a deep breath. "Now, speaking of old age, here's another aggravation that goes along with it. Where's the nearest head? I need to make some water."

"Certainly, sir. This way." Tucker led the group to the far end of the lab and indicated a recessed door near a corner. Two of the general's bodyguards went into the lavatory with scanners and suspicious attitudes. They finally came out and reported, with obvious disappointment, that it seemed to be clear. As Kuchera headed toward the facility, Tucker leaned back against the bulkhead and half-closed his eyes. He seemed to be daydreaming.

T'Pol's eyes popped open. She leaned forward and blew out the candle, rolling to her feet in a smooth motion. Three steps brought her to a hidden panel. A few quick hand movements opened the panel to reveal a concealed transporter alcove with a single pad and a tiny control board. An ampoule sat on the pad, filled with a clear liquid.

T'Pol inserted a previously prepared data chip into the board, and several lights activated. She adjusted the controls, orienting the incoming signal from the subcutaneous transmitter. Then she pushed a lever upward. The liquid in the ampoule sparkled and disappeared, leave the ampoule sitting empty. She moved it to the top of the console, stepped onto the pad, and pulled the panel door shut behind her.

T'Pol opened her sense of their bond to its limit. He was transmitting no distress, no evidence that the plan had gone awry. She needed to wait an addition four minutes, minimum. Her internal time sense had always been dependable, but in a case like this T'Pol did not hesitate to refer to the chronometer on the wall, just to be safe. At four minutes and ten seconds, she inserted another data chip into the console. The transporter effect engulfed her.

She re-materialized inside a standard Human sanitary disposal area. The Butcher was sitting, slumped and unconscious on the toilet, with his pants around his ankles. The old man's face was slack and drool leaked from the corner of his mouth. She grimaced and shuddered.

No time to indulge herself. She had to extract the micro-transmitter, perform the meld, and then signal the preset console in their quarters for automatic beam out. If she wasn't finished and gone by the time the Butcher's bodyguards became suspicious, she and her mate and their child would surely die. T'Pol spread her fingers across the contact points on the old Human's face and bent forward, calling upon every fragment of self-discipline she had.

"My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts..."

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH 2 DAYS, 14.5 HOURS**

Tucker stood at rigid attention before the viewscreen. "Yes, your majesty. The staff doctor reports that General Kuchera will make a full recovery. She states that the cause of his collapse is simple exhaustion, complicated by advanced age. It turns out that the general has been working a ten hour shift, seven days a week, for the past few months. She also stated that his blood sugar levels were severely depleted."

"Why does that sound familiar?" Hoshi said dryly, giving Tucker a look. "I know. You don't have to say it. But you're not a hundred and twenty-three, either. Did I hear correctly? One of his bodyguards tried to shoot you?"

"Not precisely, your majesty," Tucker said, shifting uncomfortably. "They were understandably upset, and one of them suggested that I might have had something to do with the general's condition. It didn't add up to anything serious."

"All right." Hoshi growled and shook her head. "His safety is in your hands, Tucker. You are well aware of what will happen to you, if he doesn't make it out of there safe and sound."

"Yes, ma'am." She reached for a control and the screen went black. He slumped in relief, then settled slowly into his desk chair. T'Pol, who had been sitting silently on the edge fo the bed, stood up and went to the replicator to bring him some coffee. Come to think of it, she had been unusually quiet ever since he got back. Tucker noticed her face when she brought the coffee. She seemed distracted and deeply troubled.

Tucker took a slow sip and quietly asked, "How did your research go?"

T'Pol hesitated. "It was surprisingly informative."

He flicked a glance. "Is that good or bad?"

"I am uncertain." She settled down on the floor next to the panel where the kid was stashed. "I am in the process of gaining new insight into matters that I had formerly believed I understood. Now, I am coming to question that belief."

He took another sip. "Isn't there some proverb about the essence of life being change?"

"Indeed." She sat for a moment. "I grieve with thee."

"Why?" He looked at her.

"Because our... because family is family." She looked at him with something in her eyes that hurt to see. So he stopped looking. And went back to his coffee. And the interesting wall.

"Yeah." Tucker set the mug down and tightened both hands around it. "I suppose it is."

"As you pointed out once," T'Pol whispered, "blood is everything to a Vulcan." She was silent for a time. "I understand more than I did. At least now I understand why."

TBC


	27. Chapter 27

**Payment**

**By****Blacknblue****(aka****Bluenblack)**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

**Note:** Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

**A/N:** Zoological information adapted from Wikipedia.

Payment Chapter 26:

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH 2 DAYS, 14.5 HOURS**

Fleet Admiral Travis Mayweather watched with mild amusement as the empress snarled and flung a cushion across their quarters. "This is ALL I need," she raged. "Every time I turn around, Tucker is causing more trouble. Now I have to prepare and send out an announcement that General Kuchera is going to be fine, otherwise rumors will have him dead in a hundred different ways." She glared at the comm. "I should have killed that Vulcan. Then I wouldn't have to clean up Tucker's messes."

Travis chuckled and stood up. "That's unreasonable, my dear. It's not Tucker's fault that Kuchera is a sick old man who won't take care of himself. Besides, I am growing rather fond of these upgrades."

"Oh, stop spouting logic like a Vulcan!" Sato scooped up the cushion from the floor and flung it at him. "I'm not in the mood to hear it. And weren't you the one who went on and on about how sly Tucker is? And how his enemies have a habit of dropping without any way to trace it back to him? I'm still not happy with that explanation for Reed's death."

"Naturally, not." Her consort walked over and tangled his hand in her hair. "Reed was your Rottweiler. But there's no reason to believe Tucker had anything to do with it. He wasn't even on the ship."

"Exactly." Hoshi glared. "The minute Tucker transports off the ship, practically the very minute he leaves, Reed drops dead without warning. Doesn't that look suspicious to you?"

Mayweather sighed. "The man can't win. If he had been here, you would use that against him instead. What's really bothering you?"

"Tucker!" She growled and stalked over to slam her fist onto the desk. "Do you have any idea how many feathers he's ruffling with his high-handed abuse of those dainty little design engineers? And the junior captains, and commanders? Every time I try to drink a cup of cocoa it gets cold because I'm on the comm, soothing some outraged parent or grandparent whose little darling has been disrespected."

"It will do the vapor brains a universe of good to learn how real life works," Travis sauntered over to the bed and reclined with his hands behind his head. "Tell them to get over it."

"I CAN'T tell them to just get over it." She stopped and took a deep breath. Then she went on in a more serious tone. "Please listen. This is important. Politics is a huge part of this job. You need to start paying attention to it, or neither of us will survive."

He grimaced and sat up. "All right. I suppose there's no escaping it."

"There isn't." Her supreme majesty took another deep breath and adopted a placating tone. "Travis. This isn't like the MACOs. You can't just shoot someone who doesn't go along with you."

"Oh, really?" He quirked an eyebrow. "Tell that to the Imperial Supreme Council."

"The Council is irrelevant." She snorted. "I'm talking about the High Command. In case you haven't noticed, _dearest_, they shoot back. And thanks to Tucker, they now have guns that are capable of hurting us, even inside Defiant. At least, they could hurt us if they came at us in large enough numbers. I can't just ignore them. Plus, they all have their own personal entourage who owe first loyalty to them. We need to keep the High Command on our side, Travis. We can't hold power without them."

He looked thoughtful. "We actually need the loyalty of Starfleet itself. Or at least, a high percentage of it."

"Same thing," she said impatiently. "We haven't had time to build a personal following of any size. Neither of us has. We're just worker class lowlifes who saw a chance and jumped on it. But the High families have spent generations building their power bases, and making their connections between themselves. We _have to have _their support, Travis."

He looked at her. "Fair enough. What are you leading up to?"

She sighed. "Tucker has been a big help, I admit that. But I always knew the day would come when he would need to be eliminated. He's just too abrasive, and he absolutely will not grovel when he needs to. As soon as the fleet upgrades are complete, I'm going to order him back to Defiant. Then we can arrange an unfortunate accident."

"I'm not sure that would be a good idea." Travis stood up. "In fact, I'm fairly certain it would be a bad idea."

"Do you want the throne?" Hoshi met his eyes. "You said you would let me run things as I pleased, because you didn't want the bother. Well, listen to me. I won't take the responsibility without the authority to actually make decisions. I know..." She gritted her teeth. "I know I can't defy you. But I refuse to have you second guessing everything I do. If I am to be empress, then I am going to BE empress. Otherwise, take the throne. Or kill me now."

He regarded her carefully. She actually meant it. Hoshi was as changeable as a spring breeze, but for now she was serious. Mayweather pursed his lips. "I want you to spend more time thinking this through. Consider every possible, and consider the consequences. Even an 'accident' is likely to provoke the kind of reaction from Tucker's people that might be catastrophic."

"Catastrophic?" Sato's lip curled. "Tucker has his people firmly under his thumb, I admit that. And Hess keeps her drooling face stuck to his backside like a bitch in heat. But none of his people are going to commit suicide to avenge a dead man."

Her consort sighed. "You never did grasp the dynamics of Tucker's department." He looked at her. "Calling Hess a bitch reminded me of that proverb Tucker mentioned a while back. About how it's better to be a live jackal than a dead lion. And what you said afterward."

Her brow wrinkled. "What are you talking about?"

Mayweather smirked without amusement. "You said jackals were just wild dogs. More and more, I have been thinking about how well you hit the target with that one. Even if you didn't realize it."

"I'm not in the mood for riddles." Hoshi walked over to the replicator. "Green tea. Hot." She turned back with the cup and took a sip, closing her eyes in relief. "Say what you mean."

"Think about the engineers in Starfleet," Travis urged her. "Think about how they're treated. Why? Everything aboard a ship depends on them, but we literally treat them like dogs. Why is that?"

Hoshi shrugged and took another sip. "They're disposable. Like common foot soldiers. Always more where they came from."

"Like me?" His cold gaze froze her in her tracks. "I was a common foot soldier. I worked my way up the ranks. Like Tucker. Like Kuchera, for that matter."

She didn't move a muscle, not even her lips when the whisper slid out. "I didn't mean you."

"Of course not." He kept his eyes on her. "We were talking about starship engineers. The people who keep life support up and running. The people who keep us from dying of thirst, or drowning in our own sewage. The people who keep the guns hot. The people who keep the engines operating and give us the stars. The people we ignore, and insult. The people we use up and throw away as if they had no value at all."

Hoshi stood dumbfounded, unable to think of a reply. Finally she said, "How does this connect to what you said about that proverb?"

"Wild dogs," Travis mused. "I remember your words exactly. You said, 'jackals are just scavenging wild dogs'. Except, my dear, jackals and other wild dogs are not just scavengers. They are, in fact, the premier predators on old Earth. After ourselves, they are the most efficient killers that our world ever spawned. If and when they choose to scavenge a kill, it's from choice. Not from necessity."

"Travis." Hoshi licked her lips. "It was just a saying. We weren't speaking literally. Are you all right?" She took a hesitant step toward him.

"I realize that." He suddenly smiled. It wasn't pretty. "But the analogy fits like a glove. Better than you might believe possible."

Travis got up and looked out the port. "All those stars. So many of them with planets that have people on them. So many cultures, and most of the ones we have found are more advanced they us." He turned to look at her. "Ever consider that fact, Hoshi? Most of our technology was stolen."

She harumphed. "A prize taken in battle is not stolen."

"A matter of semantics." He walked to the desk and sat down. "Cochrane developed a warp one engine. The Vulcan's came to investigate, and underestimated us. So we took their scout ship and tore it apart. Then we started building our own warp three ships with technology that we only half understood. From that point, we took off and started killing our way across the quadrant, adding more stolen technology as we went along. But we never really gained true mastery over the tech that we took. All our emphasis was on fighting. Dealing with the technology after it had been captured was shoved off on the worker classes. The warriors had more important things to deal with."

"So?" Sato put down her empty cup and propped on the desk. "We have it. It works. What difference does it make how we got it?"

He leaned back and looked up at the overhead beams. "Think about these upgrades. You know what they really are. Tucker is taking his counterpart's notes and simply improving our ships to the point of being almost, not quite but almost, as good as the ones that the other universe was using at this point in their own history."

She shifted uncomfortably. "They got lucky."

He barked a laugh. "Lucky? You know better than that. They had better ships because they invented their own tech, instead of stealing it from other races. They applied Human ingenuity to create, rather than destroy. Which gave them the edge against every enemy they ever faced. At least up to the point where _Defiant_ came through."

"And now we have it," Hoshi smiled triumphantly. "Because our warriors took it."

Travis looked at her and shook his head. "The fact that our Tucker could have already given us these upgrades, and many more, if he had received proper training in his youth doesn't seem to impress you at all. So be it. The throne is yours, as I said. I only ask that you consider carefully before you do anything that's going to blow up in our faces."

"Of course." She kissed him deeply and sauntered out, leaving Mayweather staring after her for. He rubbed his chin a moment, then activated the desk terminal.

"Standard Issue Database. Biology. Terran. African wild dog. General."

_The African wild dog (Lycaon pictus), is the largest remaining feral canine species on Terra. Adults typically weigh 18–36 kilograms and stand approximately 75 cm at the shoulder. Remaining habitat is limited to widely scattered pockets in southern and central Africa. Poaching the animal is punishable by summary execution. The African wild dog may reproduce at-_

"Stop. Sub-category search. Hunting methods."

_The African wild dog is a cursorial hunter, meaning that it pursues its prey in a long, open chase. Nearly 80% of all wild dog hunts end in a kill. For comparison, the success rate of lions, often viewed as ultimate predators, is only 30%. Wild dogs frequently kill larger prey via disemboweling. _

"Stop. Close database."

Mayweather leaned back in his chair again, thinking hard. Then his hand reached for the comm. "Commander Hess. Report to the main briefing room."

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH 2 DAYS, 14.0 HOURS**

Tucker stirred and raised his head from his folded arms, blinking. T'Pol walked over with a glass of water and a damp cloth. He blearily accepted the glass and started drinking while she wiped his face. "I dropped off, huh?"

"You are, as always, exhausted," she told him quietly. "I debated helping you to the bed, but you seemed to be only drowsing fitfully. I did not want to risk awakening you if I could avoid it."

He rubbed his eyes and yawned. "I need to get back to work. But first I better check on the general."

Her lips tightened. "You would have been informed if his condition had deteriorated. Not being medically trained, you are in no position to assist in his treatment. You would accomplish more by remaining here for a longer time and purging your fatigue toxins."

He stood up. "I feel a lot better after that catnap. It's only a couple more days. Then I can rest. Once the task force heads out, I'll cut the upgrade schedule on the rest of the fleet back to something sane." He hesitated on his way toward the door. "Those records you were researching. Did you-"

"They are purged," she told him. "There was nothing beneficial among them, and the storage capacity could be put to more practical use."

"Good." His face un-tightened slightly. "No sense being wasteful." He turned back to the door.

"Adun." When he looked back, T'Pol was standing with her hands folded and her chin lifted. "I wish to tell you that you were correct. I do in fact regret what I did to you. More deeply than you will ever know. I have hated Humans for more years than you have been alive. Whatever my reasons were, they did not excuse my blindness. I allowed my anger to prevent me from seeing the redeeming characteristics of individual Humans, such as yourself. This was massively illogical. Now, I perceive my error. I do not anticipate forgiveness. But I want you to know that I experience honest regret."

He stared. Nothing coming through the bond felt like she was lying. Finally he nodded and stepped through the door.

_"This is getting complicated. A quick scan of Kuchera turned up traces of Tri-chenix-chloro-mikogen." _

_"Did Tucker have an opportunity to interrogate him?" _

_"No. They were never alone at any time. In fact, he was in the head when he collap- oh shit. No pun intended." _

_"Did you scan for transport residuals in the sanitary facility?" _

_"Never had the chance. It would be a bit redundant anyway, don't you think? What else could have happened?" _

_"You will need to stand by when Kuchera awakens. You did say that he will recover?" _

_"No reason he shouldn't. Tri-chen is fairly harmless to Humans, and the dosage traces are miniscule. There's only one way that Tucker could have extracted anything useful from him in the handful of minutes that he was in there." _

_"Indeed. If she performed a meld, it is likely that he will recall nothing incriminating. It seems that they have begun to form a cooperative association. This is helpful." _

_"It might be helpful. Assuming that Tucker is actually the partner that she's working with." _

_"He is. She is Vulcan, and he is the Sa-Mehk of her child. Trust my judgment on this." _

_"Of course, darling. It will be interesting to see what you act like when we have our first baby." _

_"I am certain you will approve. Meanwhile, we have another complication." _

_"What?" _

_"Sato is planning to assassinate Tucker as soon as the fleet is upgraded... CALM DOWN." _

_"Sorry. Felt it all the way over there, huh?" _

_"Intensely. Panic is not justified. Mayweather disagrees with her plan. He is already taking steps to prevent it." _

_"Whew. You really need to work on something called tact, honey. Listen now, the definition of the word tact is-" _

_"Sarcasm is not justified either." _

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH 2 DAYS, 2.25 HOURS**

Rostov made a small adjustment to the warp field containment monitor, and moved on to the next terminal. "Morgan," he called, "send me a three megacycle pulse to this station, willya? Fifteen second duration."

"Aye, sir." The technician worked a few keys and the screen in front of Rostov lit up with a standard sine wave. He gazed blankly at it for the time allotted. It was strictly for camouflage, so he spent the fifteen seconds thinking carefully.

Then he shut down the monitor and said, "We're getting some harmonic leakage in the upper frequency range. If anyone needs me, I'll be up on the back catwalk checking the main power regulators. Those secondary crystals may be getting burned."

"That would be all we'd need," someone behind him muttered quietly. Rostov smiled and headed for the stairs, making a show of preparing his tricorder.

Anna was waiting on the short catwalk behind the main drive core. Orange light from the core pulsed across her face and skin, stroking shadows along her legs and torso. Her eyes were hidden in darkness, hypnotic wells of mystery that pulled him like a torch pulls a moth into destruction. He clamped his jaws. Focus. She didn't want him, and he needed to get his head out of his rump. This wasn't a tryst, this was business.

"What do you need, Boss?" She half flinched, and half shivered, whenever he called her that. It was the main reason that he did it. Well, the shiver part, actually.

She stepped closer and lowered her voice. "I just met with Admiral Mayweather. He offered to give us Cole."

Rostov froze. "What's the trade?"

Anna's eyes flickered from side to side. "He said it's a good faith gesture. And he wants us to send a message to Charles. He said to tell him, 'Having a tame jackal at the head of a pack can be very useful, when other lions come calling'. He said Charles would understand."

Rostov's thoughts raced in a blur. "This isn't part of the plan. What in the name of Cochrane's whiskey bottle has the boss been hatching with Mayweather?"

"That's the question that might drill us," she said grimly. "But if it's a real offer, I want it. I want it bad."

"We all do, Anna." Rostov reflected. "If it's straight, and we don't move, the boss might get hung out to dry. If it's a trap... well." He looked up and grinned. "We can take steps of our own."

She slowly smiled in return. "I ever tell you that you have a twisted mind?"

"You say the nicest things, Boss," he told her. "So what did he give you?"

Anna bared her teeth. "The control codes for her arm. Including the gun."

Rostov started choking on laughter.

TBC


	28. Chapter 28

**Payment**

**By****Blacknblue****(aka****Bluenblack)**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

**Note:** Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

Payment Chapter 27:

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH 2 DAYS, 2.0 HOURS**

Tucker clawed his way up from the darkness into bleary-eyed consciousness. T'Pol stood grimly beside the bed. "Message. From Defiant." Only one person could have put that look in her eyes.

He yawned and rolled to a sitting position. "What does Anna want? You wouldn't wake me if it wasn't important."

T'Pol's jaw muscles worked. Then she took his hand and turned it over. Shielding the motion with her body, she traced the word 'impact' on his palm. A flash of icy-cold adrenaline surged through his body and he lunged for the comm. Anna was waiting with a poker face. "Anna. Secure?"

She nodded and pressed a key. Flickering static appeared around the edges of the screen, showing that the fifth level of encryption had been engaged. Tucker had installed the code himself, derived from _Defiant's_ most secret files. At the time of _Defiant's_ departure from its home universe, it had been the most secure military encryption known to the alternate universe's Federation. The Terran Empire's best computers would require a minimum of a century to break through. He had left standing orders that it was to be used if, and only if, the plan itself was in danger of total collapse.

"Tell it." Tucker tried to swallow around a dry throat. Then he smelled coffee. T'Pol handed him the mug and stepped back out of view. Not that it mattered now. He considered the constant possibility of monitors in the room, and shrugged. In an 'impact' situation, ordinary precautions were more trouble than they were worth.

In quick, blunt words, Anna delivered Mayweather's offer. Then she sagged slightly. "What's going on, Charles? We need to know. The rest of us are here on the ship without you, and we don't know which way to take it. What kind of deal did you cut?"

"I didn't." Tucker leaned back and closed his eyes, pouring down a scalding swig of coffee with a shudder. "Give me a minute to work through this in my head. Maintain." T'Pol's presence in the bond was crackling like a live conduit. She was in full battle mode. Great. All he needed now was a blood-mad Vulcan cutting loose.

"Last time I was over there," he spoke slowly, "Billie told me Cole was getting crazier all the time. Maybe Travis decided she's too much trouble to control. He can use us to get rid of her, and make it look like a bribe."

"There's something else," Anna said. He opened his eyes. "He said to tell you that a tame jackal at the head of a pack could be handy, when other lions come calling. What code is that?"

Tucker sat without moving, staring fixedly at the screen. Then his hand moved, shaking slightly, to put the mug down. T'Pol intercepted it before he had a chance to spill hot coffee all over himself and the desk. "Adun. Breathe. ADUN!"

He jerked and looked at her, then back at the screen. "Not a code," Tucker whispered. "Something we talked about once. Me, and Travis, and Hoshi. Shitshitshit." He rubbed his face with both hands. "He knows. I thought he might have worked it out before, but then... there's no other way to figure it. He knows."

"Dropshot." Anna's voice was ice.

"Wait." Tucker held up a hand. "Just wait. Let me think. If he knows, why didn't he... I need a minute to work this out. Give me just a minute." He stood up and started pacing around the quarters, running his hand through his hair.

"If he knows," T'Pol said, "what possible reason would he and Sato have for witholding their strike?"

Tucker halted in mid-step. "That's it. He knows. Hoshi doesn't." He spun slowly to look at both of them. "That almost has to be it. Hoshi is about to pull something that Travis thinks is going to get them killed. So he's trying to hedge his bet. He's giving us Cole to prove he's serious."

Anna's face was milk white, except for the pulsing blood vessels in her temples and throat. "This is it, Charles. Phase Three."

He met her eyes and nodded. "We're not ready. Almost. I need a few more days, Anna. Just a few more days, to put a few more people into key points. We've come too far to fumble it now. If we leave even one weak point that Hoshi or the High Command can exploit, it will all be for nothing."

"We've been ready here since you left," Anna told him. "If I go down, Michael takes it. If we both go down, we have contingencies in place until you can get back here. The main bridge is rigged and ready. With ten seconds warning we can re-route to the battle bridge and explosively decompress the upper five decks. Mayweather moved pressure suits to the bridge lockers, but they all have compromised seals and drained power packs."

Tucker let out his breath and nodded. "Secure here. The new torpedo mounts went in under the noses of the brass. Every team that went out to mount a pair of torpedoes on a cruiser also installed a launch rack here on their way out, and stopped to install another one to the station on their way in to dock. The new phase cannon here aren't as efficient as _Defiant's_, but we have enough raw power to equal their output. We have two separate warp cores to power the shields, enough to take everything _Defiant_ could dish out. We could hold off half the fleet here, even with all the ships upgraded. I've also got two engineering-sized replicators up and running, and I've been requisitioning extra supplies and raw materials since day one. There's enough here to terraform Mars again."

Anna peeled her teeth like a hungry cat. "If even half the fleet manages to put the plan through, we can smash the rebellion and take the whole empire. And damn the High Command."

A surge of raw emotion slashed his nerves through the bond - primitive, hot, and dry-throated for blood. Tucker staggered a little. T'Pol had his arm in an eye blink, steering him back to the chair. "Sit, adun. Drink your coffee. I will bring food."

"What about," Anna hesitated. "Black Cat?"

Tucker shook his head and took another sip. "No word yet. Not due until tomorrow at the earliest on the Rigil end. Andoria, two, maybe three more days. If it hits, so much the better. If not, we haven't lost anything we can't live without." T'Pol stood perfectly still with her eyes half closed. He felt her presence in the bond, touching and seeking. Suddenly her eyes flew open. Tucker met the stare with a sardonic grin.

"You will humiliate them." She was looking at him with a light in her eyes that he had never seen before. "If both missions succeed, you will destroy their pride before you kill them."

"I'm still hoping I might not have to kill them." He settled back and rubbed his temples. T'Pol's confusion in the bond didn't help matters.

"You will have no choice," T'Pol tilted her head with her brows together.

Anna flicked a glance at the Vulcan. "It sickens me to agree with that thing, but she's right. If both cats catch a mouse, there's no way they could ever let it pass. They wouldn't dare."

"Hoshi wouldn't," he agreed. "Travis is more practical. Unlike her glorious majesty, he'll understand why I did it that way. And he's also capable of understanding the way other people think. Sometimes."

T'Pol's mood was darkening. "We must talk privately, adun."

He nodded. "I know. It's time you knew a little more." He looked at the screen. "Hold off on Cole as long as you reasonably can, please. But it's your call. I will push things as fast as I dare."

She looked at him steadily. "We'll wait for your signal. Hurry." The screen went blank.

T'Pol moved to plant herself in front of him. "Explain." The bond was getting hotter with each second.

"Wife." She froze, immobilized by shock at hearing the word come out of his mouth. "Go meditate. I refuse to discuss this with you until you calm down. I'll eat a bite, grab a shower, then we talk. Briefly."

"But-"

"Move." She walked slowly to get her candle, looking back at him in abject confusion.

It was most of half an hour before Tucker got outside a breakfast that he didn't taste, and ran a quick rinse over himself. When he emerged T'Pol was putting her candle back on the shelf, and the bond was nearly normal. She turned to face him and waited. He sighed.

"Let's sit on the bed." She followed him over in silence. "Go ahead. Ask. I won't tell you everything, but I'll give you more than you have."

She considered him. Finally she asked, "How can you possibly take the throne without killing them?"

"I'm not taking the throne." T'Pol drew back, nonplussed. "Look, lady. I don't want the headache. I have enough to deal with now. If it works, I won't need the throne to get what I want. Whoever's on the throne will need me, and my people, to get what they want."

Awareness slowly grew across her face. "Sato and Mayweather will be your puppets."

"Not necessarily," he told her, feeling tired unto the depths of his soul. "But they won't be stomping on me or my people, either."

He shook his head and looked away, into the far corners of the room. "For a thousand years, and especially for the last hundred years since we reached the stars, the High warrior families have run things, and shoved the practical job of keeping everything going onto the working classes. At first it was us, the lower class Humans. Then they added Vulcans, Andorians, Tellarites, Orions, and the rest. But it was always the same story. They got what they wanted, we got the scraps, and anyone who didn't like it got shot."

"You intend to change the Human social pattern." Her voice held a note of slowly deepening understanding.

He looked at her. "I intend to smash the Human social pattern, and rebuild it."

She blinked. "Why has no one done this before now?"

Tucker rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked back at her. "Most likely some have, and we just didn't hear about it because they got caught. It's not the kind of thing that the High families would advertise."

"More probably," she said, "you are a superior individual and the first Terran of your class who possessed the ability to accomplish this."

"Not likely." He grimaced. "It's true that we're kept as ignorant as possible, and only taught the bare minimum we need to know to do our jobs. And workers aren't allowed to collaborate, or form guilds. It's safer if we're all kept isolated from each other."

He looked tired. "My biggest problem was linking everyone together. Taking personal command of this fleet upgrade was the only way I could come up with to meet people face-to-face for evaluation and recruiting."

T'Pol stared. "Flawlessly logical. But I am still unclear about your ultimate objective. If not the throne, what? What place shall our child have?"

"Whatever place they want." His lips tightened. "That's the objective. For everyone to choose their own path."

The High Command will die before they permit it," T'Pol said.

"Good." He smiled. "That's what I'm hoping."

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH 1 DAY, 14 HOURS**

Krasen opened his eyes at the sound of a faint chime. He straightened from meditation and watched a transporter effect outline the seat of his former confinement chair. A simple meal of bread and raw vegetables waited for him on a tray. He considered the possibility of drugs or poison briefly. But his interim decision had been made more than ten hours ago. He proceeded to feed himself.

Once finished, he announced to the room, "I am ready to examine the further proof you offered."

The woman's voice came from nowhere in particular. "Resume your seat in the chair. Merely a precaution. I am sure you understand."

"If I refuse?" asked idly. He was already confident of the answer.

"Then you remain where you are, without food, until you perish," she told him, confirming his expectations. He took his seat and waited. The restraints activated once more. Then the transporter beam took him.

He rematerialized on a pad at the rear of what could only be a tiny ship. It was larger than an empire shuttlepod, but smaller than a Tellarite lifeboat. His captors occupied seats at a control panel, located at the front of the craft beneath what gave the appearance of a wraparound viewport.

"Welcome," the woman smiled over her shoulder at him. "You are aboard the _Yellowjacket_, named for a venomous stinging invertebrate native to Terra. The creature is notable for delivering a disproportionate amount of damage relative to its size, and so it seemed an appropriate name for our little home away from home."

Krasen focused on committing every detail to memory. "I do not recognize the design."

"This is one of the craft that we brought with us from your future," the man said. "One of several. The weakest of them is capable of destroying _Defiant_. Or, alternatively, destroying an entire squadron of empire battle cruisers." The starfield began to move. Suddenly it shifted, stretched, and flashed. The view changed and Krasen realized that they had gone into warp. At no point had he felt the slightest sense of motion.

Or perhaps, the viewscreen was projecting an illusion meant to confuse him.

The woman answered the question he had not asked. "We are on the way to a meeting with our superior officers. We have decided to tell you, Krasen, that there was a specific reason that I did not kill you. In our original time line, the time line that no longer exists, you went on after the rebellion to take a prominent place in history. We are aware of your potential. We want to harness that potential for our own use, rather then see it pointlessly destroyed. If you cooperate, it is likely that you will have a prominent place in the history of this time line as well."

"Now, I have my answer," he finally replied. "If I decide to believe your explanation."

"That is the issue." The man turned in his seat. "We offer further evidence. At the age of nine years, you were contracted to undergo a betrothal ceremony to a girl named T'Lir, the daughter of a colleague of your mother. A few days prior to the ceremony, your memoirs are not clear as the the precise time interval, T'Lir was killed with her parents in an aircar accident. The contract was never officially recorded, but you recall the event with perfect vividness since it was your first experience with the violent death of a cordial acquaintance."

Krasen firmly refused to permit his face to twitch.

The woman offered, "At the age of twenty-five, you entered into your first pon farr prematurely. Not having expected this, you were on Vulcan pursuing your studies while your betrothed, Tanar, was serving aboard an empire battlesip. You retired to the sanctuary at Lonet-Quor to beseech the service of a priestess."

Krasen's hands locked on the arms of the chair convulsively. He did not speak a word, but his eyes glared.

"Unfortunately," the Human appearing woman continued, "there were only three priestess' available at the sanctuary, and all three of them were carrying out their commitments with other petitioners when you arrived. Desperate, you seized one of the serving acolytes and begged her to save your life. Although she was really too young for the task, the girl decided that she could not honorably let you die and took you into one of the isolation caves."

The man picked up the account. "Since she was both inexperienced and completely untrained, she was unable to block your mind during coupling. As a result, by the time you emerged from the fever you and she were bonded. You spent the next nine years with her as a married couple, until she was killed during the battle of Wolf 359."

"Enough!" Krasen bowed his head and fought for control.

"We are not bringing these things up specifically to torture you," the woman said. "We are referencing them because they are deeply personal in nature, and it seems unlikely that you would have discussed them with anyone, or documented them anywhere except in your memoirs. According to our understanding, you have not yet begun to compile the notes for your memoirs."

"You could have extracted them from my memory while I was unconscious," Krasen snarled.

"We could have," she agreed. "You probably spent a fair amount of time in meditation while we were gone. You would be a most unusual Vulcan if you had not. During meditation, did you detect any indication of mental tampering or invasion?"

He was shaking. "It is possible that your skill is such that I am incapable of detecting it."

"If that is true," the man said, "then you must logically believe that our competence so far surpasses your own that you will never be able to disprove anything we say. In which case, I recommend that you simply believe us and be done with it."

The woman looked at her husband and sighed. "That didn't even feel like you were amused. I suppose, to a Vulcan, it might make some kind of twisted sense." She shook her head. "If there is any part of your past that you might intend to include in your memoirs, and you have not told anyone else about, feel free to ask us. We are willing to check our copy of your writings and see if it is in there."

He looked at her in wonder. "This contradicts all that I have been taught to believe."

"New discoveries are seldom made by those who accept the status quo," the man observed. "Only by questioning supposed facts can we arrive at new knowledge."

"Think about it," she advised in a kind voice. "It will be a while until we arrive."

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH 1 DAY 14 HOURS**

"Good to see you up and around, general," Tucker said, standing at attention.

Kuchera continued fastening his uniform, under the hovering gaze of his bodyguards, and didn't look at Tucker. "Not so good that I was down in the first place, commodore," he muttered. "That's about as undignified a situation as it's possible for a man to be in."

"Please, sir," Tucker was in full lapdog mode. "No one will ever know. We're all flesh and blood. Most of us never make it as far as you have, much less still be able to work like you do. You shouldn't think anything of it. I really do wish that you would reconsider leaving, though. Everyone needs a break now and again, and the fleet is launching in two days. I think it will be a sight worth watching."

Kuchera paused and looked up. "That's right, isn't it?" He hesitated. "It might be worth watching, at that."

"Think of the morale boost, sir," Tucker said. "What will it do for the crews to have the senior member of the High Command himself on hand to order them out?"

Kuchera snorted. "All right, Tucker. You have a point. We have to think about things like that, don't we? I'll stick around until after the fleet launch."

"Thank you, sir!" Tucker grinned broadly. "We are honored to have you."

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH 1 DAY, 13 HOURS**

"Tucker called it pretty close," Travis observed, looking over the proposed schedule. "The the task force will be ready to go less than a day over deadline."

Hoshi turned in the command chair and made a face. "Ordinarily I would break him. But since the work turned out to be more extensive that we planned, I suppose I'll have to settle for an ass chewing."

Mayweather chuckled. "We will be glad he took the extra time, when those torpedoes launch."

"I suppose," she tugged on her hair pensively. "Did you check with Hess about replacing them?"

"She said replicating them is no problem," Travis stepped down to stand beside her. "Generating the anti-matter for the warheads is the time-consuming part. Unless we want to blow ourselves up, there's no hurrying it. The laws of nature are fairly inflexible that way."

"The laws of nature could stand a little discipline." She shot him a smile. "The general told me that he decided to stay on the station to watch the fleet head out. He offered to say a few words, if we wanted him to."

Travis considered and nodded. "A good thought." He quietly asked, "Have you done any more thinking about what we discussed?"

He eyes flashed. "My mind is made up."

Mayweather pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully. "As I expected. Just wanted to make sure." He turned to go, "I think I'll go make a courtesy call on the general. Wouldn't want to look indifferent to his welfare, would we?"

"Thank you." Hoshi sighed. "It will help smooth things with the rest of the High Command to tell them that you are monitoring his condition personally."

Travis stopped at the turbolift and bowed. "I live to serve, your majesty," he said sardonically.

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH 1 DAY, 13 HOURS**

Krasen sat brooding while his captors conversed quietly at the controls. From the remarks he overheard, they certainly sounded like a mated pair. Suddenly a thought came to him.

"If you wanted me to join you," he asked, "why did you wait until now to contact me?"

The two stopped talking and turned as one to look at him. The woman said, "Recruiting you was a spur of the moment decision. It wasn't part of our original plan. When I captured you and determined your identity, I suggested recruiting you as the only viable alternative to killing you. It just seemed like a waste of useful talent."

"So your primary purpose," Krasen tightened his jaws, "was to protect Tucker?"

"Indeed," the man told him. "He has been remarkably useful in furthering our plans, and we intend to use him further."

Krasen felt his face burn. "Kill me. You are my enemy. Be done with it."

They stared at him for a moment. Then the woman said, "Oh! I see. No, Krasen, your conclusion is flawed. Tucker isn't a member of our group. He doesn't know anything about us."

"Irrelevant," Krasen snarled. "He is responsible for the deaths of my comrades."

"Emotion has usurped your reason," the man looked reproving. "The Starfleet crew who attacked your comrades are the ones responsible. Just as you and your comrades are responsible for killing many Humans. To demand personal vengeance for deaths in battle is illogical in the extreme."

"Without him, they would still be alive!"

The woman ran a hand through her hair. "If they had not joined the rebellion, they would probably still be alive, also. If one picks up a weapon and goes to war, the probability of dying from old age diminishes quite a bit."

Krasen writhed in the chair. "You said you wanted to change the empire, to make it better. How does giving them more powerful weapons do that?"

"It doesn't," the woman said. "But that's not all Tucker is doing. It's not even the most important thing he's doing."

"It might interest you to learn," the man said, "that Tucker's bondmate is a full Vulcan, and a former member of the rebellion." He turned back to the controls and made some minor adjustments.

Krasen froze. "You are lying."

"No, we're not," the woman said. "His bonded mate is T'Pol, formerly T'Pol, daughter of T'Les of clan Sh'hiran'lin'iijyliunh'rei'iy'iukn'hy'wen'lhia'ehr m'n." She rolled the polysyllabic Vulcan name off her tongue effortlessly.

"A Vulcan would not bond a Human."

She explained, "Apparently, T'Pol underwent an early pon farr during a time when no Vulcan was available to assist her. She chose Tucker as an alternate, not realizing that since Humans have no telepathic shields at all, mating between a Human and a Vulcan in pon farr invariably results in a bond."

"Why did you say, formerly? Did her clan cast her out?" Krasen pushed back against the chair, trying to stretch cramped muscles.

The woman coughed. "Yes, and she was exiled by your government."

"For being a member of the rebellion?" Krasen sneered.

"No." The man turned back around and looked at Krasen again. "She was exiled for treachery against her bondmate."

_"WHAT!?"_ Krasen gaped.

"It seems," the woman said, "That T'Pol never bothered to mention the bond to Tucker after their mating. When the Humans aboard the ISS _Enterprise_ took _Defiant_ away from the Tholians, T'Pol led the non-humans aboard in a failed attempt to seize the ship for the use of the rebellion. She used her influence over him to induce Tucker to perform an act of sabotage, then allowed him to take the punishment for it on her behalf. She also tried to arrange for one of her comrades to kill him during the mutiny."

Krasen said motionless, with a blank stare.

The woman waited a moment. When he made no comment, she continued. "Her comrades were killed, and T'Pol was captured. They kept her because, again due to Human telepathic weakness, killing the Vulcan half of a bonded pair invariably kills the Human partner. Even severing of the bond by a priest will inflict massive damage and severely shorten the Human's lifespan."

Krasen said slowly, "So Tucker is forced to spend the rest of his natural span telepathically linked to a woman who used him against his own people, tricked him into torture, and tried to have him murdered?"

"Um... yes." She pursed her lips. "That pretty much sums it up."

Krasen said tiredly, "I withdraw my objection to letting him live."

TBC

TBC


	29. Chapter 29

**Payment**

**By****Blacknblue****(aka****Bluenblack)**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

**Note:** Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

_[I really appreciate all of the comments. Thank you. Especially since this story sat untouched for such a long time. I have been working on my original fiction lately, and just haven't made time for fanfic. But I missed it. This is what I do when I want to write something just for the heck of it, purely for fun. So, since my first original novel is getting good reviews, and things in RL are a bit hectic, I decided to let the second book rest a while and finish up some loose ends. I anticipate maybe 2-3 more chapters to finish this one. Unless the characters pull a fast one on me. Thanks to everyone who stuck it out.]_

Payment Chapter 28:

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH 1 DAY, 12.5 HOURS**

"It is unfortunate," T'Pol mused as the lay together on the bed, "that I was not aware of your plan aboard _Enterprise_. We would have made formidable allies."

Tucker grunted in disgust. "No we wouldn't. You wouldn't have listened. Why should you? I didn't have anything you wanted. Ten to one you would have reported me to Forest, before Archer kicked him out of the captain's seat. After Forest went down, you were too busy trying to save his ass, and then kill us all, to pay attention to anything a lowlife Human wanted."

She didn't answer for a long time. Finally she turned onto her side and propped on an elbow. "I had read of the federation that existed in _Defiant's_ universe. It was my true belief that such an arrangement could be achieved here. Your plan is not incomparably different. I prefer to believe that we could have achieved an effective working relationship."

"Prefer whatever pleases you." He laid a forearm across his eyes. "Your idea about a federation here is foolish. It would never work."

Her nostrils quivered slightly. "Why not? It is merely a logical extension of your plan, expanded to include non-human races."

"It's a lot more than that, lady." He dropped the arm and looked at her. "The federation they had, or maybe will have, grew out of their own history. It was built on the bodies of their dead, on the fragments of the civilizations that they built and destroyed on their way up. But we came up by a different path. It would be pointless for us to try using their landmarks, and the blaze marks they cut. We're on a different trail."

"There is an apparent contradiction here," she said. "Your plan bears a remarkable similarity to the system that is described in _Defiant's_ database."

"No it doesn't." He yawned. "I've got no plans to force a republic, or any such nonsense. Much less some kind of alliance of equals among the races. It would never hold together. Even if my people would agree to it, which they wouldn't. An alliance like that would tear itself apart with internal bickering, just like the quadrant used to be one boiling pot of constant fighting before the empire was founded."

"It could be made to work." She sounded hesitant.

He grunted. "Even if it could, which is can't, an arrangement like that would be so disorganized and inefficient that it would be defenseless against the first outside power that came along. The Klingons or the Romulans would come in and slice us up like a baked ham. The only way we can defend ourselves is with a coordinated military machine, that takes orders from one set of leaders."

"So your plan will provide no benefit for my people," she said flatly. "It will improve the lives of Humans, but the non-humans will remain slaves."

He gave her a straight look. "We have to stay strong, but that doesn't mean we have to live like savages. There's a Code in place among my people, but we stopped living by it. What I want to do is remind people that there is such a thing as honor. The system we have now is not inherently bad, IF the powers-that-be followed it. The problem is that the empire has been rotting from within, and the ones who we trusted to uphold our standards are the ones who betrayed them."

"Again, this will do nothing to help the subject races. Another rebellion will be inevitable." T'Pol laid back down and closed her eyes.

He thought for a minute. "Ever think about trade? How it works? I mean the bare bones mechanism of it?"

Her eyes opened and she turned her head, puzzled. "What of it?"

He said, "In basic form, trade's a simple exchange. But you have to have some trust or you can't trade at all. It doesn't have to be much, but you have to at least trust that the other person actually wants to make the exchange, and that they won't shoot you to take back their stuff after the swap is over. There has to be a set of rules, a Code, that both sides are willing to follow or it won't work."

Her brows pulled together. "Agreed. Your point?"

"At the bottom, all of Human society is a kind of trading," he said. "A family trades loyalty for mutual support. We trade our work and skills for money to keep ourselves alive. In government, we trade our taxes and our service for rewards and protection. It's all a swap system.

"But the way things are now the laborers, technicians, small business owners, medics, farmers, even low level government workers are all getting cheated. Trust in the system is rotting away, because the High families are not following the same rules that everyone else has to follow. When it gets to a certain point, the system will stop working at all. It's happened before in Human history, many times, whenever one side of the swap got too far out of balance. Babylon, India, Egypt, Rome, Incas, France, Russia, China, America, a hundred others. Then chaos comes, along with the invader."

"I perceive no connection with my people," she said tiredly.

"When the terms of Vulcan surrender were signed," he said, "it wasn't all one sided, was it? The empire agreed to provide Vulcan with protection, and gave your people certain rights. In fact, Vulcan got the best deal out of any world we ever conquered. Later conquests didn't come out nearly as well off."

"Irrelevant," she said. "The treaty was not honored."

"There's the connection," he said. "Honored. If you have an honor Code, then you live by it. You have to keep your word, and stick to the letter of any agreements you make, or you can't expect anyone else to stick to their agreements either. In which case, you will spend your entire existence fighting for bare survival, and never have time to do anything else. You don't do it because of some refined ideal, but because it's the only practical way to keep things from falling apart. A big part of the reason for the rebellion was because the empire didn't live up to its agreements with the subject races."

"So our child will be a slave, but a slave with privileges" she said.

"No." He closed his eyes. "I'm so tired... but no. I have plans for that too. I haven't forgotten Junior. I'm not going to abandon my own flesh and blood. Let me rest please."

"Yes, rest." She laid her hand on his chest, with fingers outspread.

The comm signaled. He groaned.

_"Commodore. Fleet Admiral Mayweather is about to dock."_

"Acknowledged. Tell him I will be there as fast as I can get there. Tell Drew I said, figure-4." Tucker rolled to his feet, cursing like a deckhand on a garbage scow. He headed for the corner and slid back the panel that covered the transporter pad. His thumbprint opened a sealed plate, where he tapped in a complex pattern. Then he looked at T'Pol. "Do you remember Fire Escape?"

"Yes." She was wearing her Vulcan mask. "At your signal, I take our child and transport to the safe room. From there, I activate the auxiliary control systems and await your arrival." She hesitated, then asked, "If you are captured or killed, who will care for our child?"

"You will," he told her. "I disabled the bomb the same night that Junior went in the oven." Her eyes widened. He shrugged, "That thing made you too useful as a weapon against me, anyway. Here," he slipped the sensor from around his neck. "Take it as a keepsake. The control pad is disabled too. I'll take the collar apart the first chance I get, I just haven't had time so far."

"It is a low priority," she told him, clutching the sensor in a tight fist. Her mouth opened and closed. "If you are killed, I will see that you are avenged."

"Don't bother," he said. "Just get the kid raised. If I go down, there's a file stored on the auxiliary comp labeled 'Option Omega'. It will tell you what to do." He took a deep breath. "Got everything?"

"Yes." Her eyes never left his face.

"Good girl." He dove for the comm and hit the call button. "Simpson."

_"Sorry, sir. She's on leave to visit her parents. You approved it yourself, sir."_

"Crap, that's right." Tucker took a deep breath. "All right, Lee, have Donovan report to my quarters _now_. I don't care what he's doing. If he's screwing, bleeding, or taking a dump it makes no difference. He can do it later. If he isn't here in three minutes, he might as well find an airlock."

_"Yessir!"_

He looked at T'Pol, then glanced at the panel the covered the bio-cylinder. "Maintain." Tucker headed for the door, and T'Pol headed for her child.

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH 1 DAY, 12.0 HOURS**

Tucker held himself stiffly at attention, with his fist against his chest, facing the shuttle hangar doors. All six of his bodyguards stood in the same position, three on each side of him. The first six members of Travis' bodyguard detachment had already come through and spread out, with weapons trained on the Tucker and his men. The remaining six MACOs would remain at the hangar to guard the pair of 23rd century shuttlecraft that the admiral had used for transport.

Tucker felt T'Pol sending him strength and reassurance through the bond. For once, he didn't resent it. The next few minutes would decide whether the plan could continue, or whether he would need to stage a coup right then and there. His best transporter operators were in place. Two more people were watching with their hands on the force field control system, ready to drop invisible barriers. Anna and Michael were on red alert. If he had to strike here, Hoshi would be dead in seconds, along with Cole and the rest of Security.

Then he would have to send out the order to activate his people throughout the fleet. He fervently hoped that it wouldn't come to that. It was too early. Too many ships had not been contacted, evaluated, and retro-fitted yet. Once the landslide began, there would be no stopping it, and the technicians on ships that had not been fitted with supplemental engineering equipment would be sitting ducks.

But it didn't look hopeful. Mayweather's stated reason for coming, to check on Kuchera in person, was a steaming pile of horse manure. Travis was about as sentimental as his favorite dagger. A comm call would have been unusually thoughtful of him. A personal visit was a smokescreen.

The portal in front of him split, leaving Travis framed in the opening. His secondary contingent stood behind him with weapons ready, glaring. Mayweather strode through, ignoring the guards, and returned Tucker's salute casually.

"I presume you don't mind if I come aboard, commodore?" Travis smiled faintly.

"Welcome aboard, sir. It's always an honor to have you visit us," Tucker said.

"No doubt." The amusement in Mayweather's eyes was unmistakeable. He glanced over Tucker's bodyguards, then raked his eyes over the deck, bulkheads, and overhead plates. "Good to see that you are staying ready," he said, as they started moving down the corridor.

"Yes, sir," Tucker said, with a dry throat. "Completely ready."

Travis lifted his chin, but kept his eyes forward. Without looking at Tucker or changing his easy saunter, he said, "Do you realize, Tucker, that you are making life difficult for myself and the empress?"

"That would never be my intention, sir," Tucker said. His belly tightened and he shot Drew a look. His huge bodyguard blinked twice in reply.

"It's the way you've been mistreating their poor darling babies, you see," Travis said flatly. "All those tender little design engineers, and the sweet talking incompetents that the High Command has provided with favored command posts. They are quite outraged that you have failed to regard their helpless infants with the awed deference that they properly deserve. Why," he chuckled, "I have heard rumors that you even went so far as to make one of them use a mop. I'm sure you can understand that they feel scandalized."

"I'm just trying to make the most efficient use of my available manpower," Tucker said carefully. "Concerning the ship commanders, all I ever did was require some of them to get out of my way while I was working."

"You ordered an admiral's nephew to vacate his own bridge until you gave him permission to return," Travis let his chuckle grow into a full laugh. "I would have given my weapon belt to have seen it. But then, I'm not the one who has to deal with the fallout."

He stopped and turned to look at Tucker. All twelve bodyguards locked into position, with weapons that weren't... quite... pointing at anyone in particular. "Hoshi is tired of smoothing the High Command's feathers, Tucker. She insists that we can't afford to antagonize them. Her royal majesty is convinced that only through adoration of the High Command can we retain and stabilize our power."

Tucker very slowly wet his lips. He said softly, "And you sir? What is your opinion?"

Mayweather rubbed his chin and looked at him for a long moment. "We've not had time to build a solid following among any branch of Starfleet but the MACOs. I'm confident that I can depend on the MACOs, but the rest of Starfleet is still doubtful. Unless Hoshi and I were certain of retaining the _active_ support of a powerful faction in Starfleet, I'm afraid that we would have no choice but to depend on the good will of the High Command."

"Suppose you had," Tucker spoke as if he were dancing across a field of live warheads, "the active support of a powerful faction within Starfleet?"

Travis smiled easily. "Our need for the support of any particular power group obviously lessens, as the number of our supporters increase. The more supporters we have, and the more effectively they are able to assist us, then the more autonomy we can maintain."

They held each other's gaze. Tucker said softly, "In all my life, I have never left any kind of debt unpaid. I have never killed a man without just cause. And I have never betrayed anyone who did not betray me first. I have sworn my loyalty, admiral. And my word is good."

"I told you I looked up your record, Tucker." Mayweather's face was perfectly calm. "Everything Reed had on you, and that was quite a bit. He did a lot of digging, as you can imagine." Tucker's face tightened and he nodded. "Your people trust you, Tucker. I'm willing to consider doing the same, up to a point. Unless you give me a reason not to."

Tucker took a deep breath. "Sir. I believe that you and her majesty are the best leaders that the empire has had in many years," he said, truthfully. "I have no desire to challenge your authority in any way."

Travis stood for a long moment, then nodded. "Fair enough. Be careful, Tucker. Remain watchful and ready at all times, and in all situations."

"Understood, sir," Tucker stiffened to attention.

"Now," Mayweather grimaced, "I have to make a courtesy call on the old man. Go back to your work, Tucker. I know the way to the VIP quarters."

"Yes, sir," Tucker said. He saluted again and watched Travis walk away, while his trailing guards kept a close eye behind until they passed out of view. He sighed and slumped. "Back to my quarters, Drew. Double time."

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH 1 DAY, 10.5 HOURS**

He returned from greeting the admiral hollow-eyed and staggering. He took the mug of coffee she offered and upended it. She felt the scalding burn of it quite clearly through the bond, but Tucker seemed oblivious. Next, he had sat down in front of the comm and contacted Defiant using his most secure encryption.

"Anna," he said. "Hoshi is planning to toss me to the High Command. Travis wants to stop her, but he needs something just as valuable as the High Command's backing. Otherwise I'm dog meat."

"I told you before, Charles," That Woman said. "Anyone that tries will have to cut through more people than I think you realize. Besides, you said that you're secure enough there to stand off Defiant itself."

"Most likely I'll be called back there for some reason, then either an accident or a trumped up charge," her mate said grimly.

"You cannot return to Defiant for any reason," T'Pol said, fighting to contain her rage.

That Woman's face contorted, but she nodded. "Not until after Phase Three is complete, anyway. Charles, you're not disposable, no matter what you think. You are the linchpin. People joined YOU, just as much as they joined the plan. They joined because of your reputation, because we all vouched for you. If you die it will collapse."

Tucker gritted his teeth. "That means that I'm on a short term clock here. It's only a matter of time until Hoshi calls me over for a report of some kind. Maybe, just maybe, I can dodge until the fleet launches. That will buy me a little time. It might be enough."

"It will be," That Woman said. "You're not going to die, Charles. Too many people need you." SHE looked at him for a time, long enough that T'Pol very nearly put her fist through the comm panel. Then SHE cut the connection.

Her mate activated the comm again. "Lee, get me Jul in Madrid. Secure."

A Human that T'Pol had never seen appeared on the screen. He saw Tucker, sat up straight, and waited silently. Her mate held up ten fingers, folding them down one at a time. Then he made a fist and held upright it in plain view. He took his free hand made a chopping strike at his own wrist, as if he were cutting off the fist. Lastly, he clasped both hands together with fingers intermingled. The Human stranger nodded, with gleaming eyes, and disconnected.

"What did that signify?" she couldn't stop herself from asking.

"Ever read about a mythical Human monster called a hydra?" he asked in return.

"No, and your evasiveness is becoming quite maddening."

Her mate yawned. "I'm going to bed. While I'm resting, look up the hydra. It's in both databases, seems to be pretty much the same story. Barring a few minor details. But the monster is the same." Whereupon he shuffled to the bed and fell across it.

T'Pol followed his suggestion, since he wasn't going to tell her anything else. After reading the story, and after due reflection, she concluded that he was preparing for a strike against the entire High Command structure simultaneously. Small wonder he had preferred not to voice it aloud. Although the significance of the hand gestures still escaped her.

T'Pol shut down the database and forced her jaw muscles to loosen. Her mate had finally managed to return to sleep, to her astonishment. It was proof that Tucker was balanced on the point of total collapse. Mayweather and the Butcher were both on the station, and yet he had simply lain down and gone to sleep.

She moved with slow care to the floor near the bio-cylinder and settled into meditation. It was best to let him move through the initial sleep stages before joining him on the bed. Otherwise, she might accidentally awaken him. Meanwhile, meditation would help quiet her anxiety and soothe his sense of the bond.

She sank deeper, into the second level of contemplation. He had a plan for their child. This much was truth, she could easily determine that he was not lying. She still had dark doubts that it would equal the benefits he intended to provide to other Humans. Despite his words, she could see no position lower than the throne that would be capable of forcing the Humans to grant her child the dignity she deserved.

However, her mate was in charge. Both Vulcan custom and the practicalities of the situation required her to assume that he knew what he was doing. But by the deathgod, she didn't have to like it. And she didn't.

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH 1 DAY, 4 HOURS**

Krasen eyed the ship on the viewscreen with skeptical trepidation. At first glance it appeared unimpressive, merely a rounded wedge shape with a pair of nacelles. Until the got close enough for him to grasp the actual size of the ship. And the size of those nacelles. And the size of the impulse thrusters.

The woman helpfully told him, "The ship we are going to dock with is named _Cobra_. She's the flagship of our tiny fleet."

"The ship ahead of us," the man added, "is quite capable, alone, of defeating the entire massed forces of the Terran empire. Or, for that matter, the Xindi alliance. I tell you this so that you may understand that our purpose is not conquest."

"What, then, is your purpose," Krasen wanted to know. "Do you intend to transform the empire into a magical garden of delight, then settle down in the midst of plenty to enjoy yourselves?"

The woman laughed. "Hardly. By our standards, the best this century has to offer is fairly miserable. No, Krasen. What we intend is to establish a modified version of the empire. Once the situation here is stable, we will use our time traveling ability to skip ahead, stopping along the way to check progress. If adjustments are needed, we will make them. When the empire finally reaches a point of technological development slightly lower than our own, we will settle down and use our improved ships and equipment to make ourselves filthy rich."

"You think I should help you with this?" Krasen said coldly. "You are willfully manipulating matters to expedite the killing of my comrades, and the rebellion's defeat, so that you personally can get rich. And I should _help you_?"

"Yes," the man said flatly. "You have not yet made contact with the Cardassians. In our time line, following the collapse of the Terran empire, a Klingon/Cardassian alliance invaded and conquered most of the quadrant. You should be aware that the Cardassians are equally as ruthless as Klingons, and are significantly less prone to conserving slaves. Terra was decimated, which I doubt concerns you. Vulcan was not only decimated, it was subjected to orbital bombardment that resulted in billions of deaths."

"Andoria was effectively destroyed," the woman continued the report soberly. "In our day, Andorians are nearly extinct due to bio-rhythm upset. Without the tidal effect of their twin planet system, they find it almost impossible to reproduce. Tellarites, Vulcans, and Humans are either collared as slave laborers, used as live training exercises by the military, conscripted into brothels, or torn apart in Klingon arenas for the entertainment of the masses. Other races spend most of their time raising foodstuffs for their masters and dodging kicks."

Krasen swallowed hard. "This is difficult to accept."

"We would offer to show you holograms," she said, "but of course they could easily be faked. Ultimately, you will have to make a decision based on the evidence of your senses, combined with what we have told you."

"We are approaching the docking port," the man said. "The time for conversation is over."

Krasen settled back and waited, working his hands and wishing for certainty.

TBC


	30. Chapter 30

**Payment**

**By****Blacknblue****(aka****Bluenblack)**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

**Note:** Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

_[Another chapter will wrap this one up. I want to go ahead and finish it, but at the same time I almost dread it. Writing ENT fanfic has been a wonderful experience for me, and I am going to miss it. I still have one other story, Vahklas, to finish, and I fully intend to wrap that one up as well. _

_To answer __**framework4**__, I have been told that for legal reasons I need to keep my commercial and fanfic writing completely separate. It all sounds truly dumbass to me, but what do I know? I'm also not supposed to post anything on here that might be construed as advertising, etc. _

_I'll give you a hint. It's an Epic Fantasy novel (different pen name of course); the first book in a trilogy; one of the lead characters is a witch; there is a sharp object on the cover; it has a one word title, which is also the name of the sharp object; you can find it on Amazon; it is available in both ebook and print; and so far I have been getting straight 4 & 5 star reviews. If that sounds interesting, go for it. If I say any more I'll get smacked.]_

Payment Chapter 29:

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 1 DAY, 4 HOURS**

"Adun." He blinked his eyes open and looked up at T'Pol. "You have slept the six hours you specified. Do you wish to rest further?"

"No." He yawned. "Too many irons in the fire." He sat up and and stretched.

"I have often speculated," T'Pol said, "on the origin of that phrase. But given the history of Human interrogation techniques, I am unenthusiastic about investigating." She put a breakfast tray on the desk. "Eat. You cannot function without nutrition, and it is unlikely that you will feed yourself again until your shift is over."

He settled behind the desk and reached for a fork, while activating the comm with his other hand. "Liu? Tucker here. Have someone run down here to my quarters with my number two kit, double time." He switched off and started devouring the pancakes she had ordered. T'Pol avoided looking at them. The bread was unobjectionable, in fact it had a pleasing flavor and texture. Even the boiled tree sap that saturated the bread rounds was tolerable. But the lump of coagulated lactation product that he smeared over the stack was repulsive in the extreme. She could barely endure the stenchful strips of muscle meat, boiled in the animal's own fat. However, it provided her mate with a high energy meal so she kept her remarks to herself.

He was almost finished when his requested toolkit arrived. Tucker scooped up the last bite from his plate and gestured her to approach, still chewing. She was mildly puzzled until he said, "Kneel down here. Let's get that thing loose."

Keeping herself under control while her mate deactivated and removed the slave collar was one of the most difficult tasks she had ever undertaken. Finally it clicked, and the sensation on the sides of her neck told her something was happening. "Hold still now," Tucker said. "It will take a minute for this tool to extract the nanoprobes."

"I will not move," she managed to whisper. The sensation finally stopped, her mate grunted, and the collar latch parted. She opened her eyes to see Tucker holding the hated thing and examining it with interest.

"I never did understand," he said, "how the Orions of all people managed to invent something this sophisticated. I'm guessing they stole it. Or had one of their slaves come up with it. Anyway," He looked at her and handed the collar back. "Better keep it and wear in in public for a while longer. Just until phase three is done. After that, it won't matter either way it goes. They'll know it didn't work when you make a break for it."

"You are not going to die," she glared at him. "It is not an acceptable option. Your distaste for taking the throne is insufficient justification for permitting yourself to be killed, and leaving our child without a father. You possess the resources to take the empire. It is your duty to your child, and to the people who have chosen you as their leader, to seize the power necessary to complete your plans effectively."

He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Lady, I would make a lousy emperor."

"That statement is self-evidently false," she told him. "Those under your command hold you in high esteem. Your department and projects are invariably run with efficiency and effectiveness."

"Small scale things, yeah," he looked at her. "I can run things on a small scale pretty well. I can even plan and coordinate big projects, if I have a specific objective to accomplish. A target to shoot for. But that's not the same thing as dealing with politics, and bickering bureaucrats, and backstabbing senior officers, and assassins, and blackmailers, and the constant threat of being overthrown. I'm an engineer, T'Pol. I deal with things and numbers. To be an emperor, or an empress, you have to have the kind of mind that relishes dealing with people. I like people, but I don't get excited about moving them around like chess pieces."

"You are capable of adapting to any circumstance you choose," she insisted.

"Maybe," he said. "I might be able to, if I there was no other way. But there's more important things that need to be done, lady."

"Such as what?" she demanded.

"Such as preparing for the Romulan war," he said. "It's coming, and you know it as well as I do. We need better ships and weapons, or your cousins will disembowel this entire quadrant."

She flinched and started to speak, then subsided. He went on, "There's also the Klingons. Do you know how many decades the Humans of _Defiant's_ universe stood, locked jaw to jaw against the Klingon empire? There are other races out there, T'Pol. Other empires, and other dangers worse than empires. I've looked into the most secure files in _Defiant's_ database. If half, or even a third, of what Humans in that universe encountered is also here in this universe... we are going to be facing things that make Klingons and Romulans look like fluffy Tellarite pups."

"You would be in a better position to ensure that these preparations occur if you were on the throne," she said.

"Not if I tell Hoshi and Travis about the danger," he said, "and show them enough to prove I'm not lying. That's the other half of my insurance policy. On the one hand, the engineers control the technology. On the other hand, I have information from _Defiant's_ classified database that no one else can get, because I wiped it from the ship's memory core. And all I want in return for giving them my full support is a few concessions. It might even work."

"If it does not?" She held his gaze.

"Then," he shrugged. "I guess I become Emperor Charles."

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 1 DAY, 3 HOURS**

The man strapped a belt around Krasen, locking the buckle with a dial pad. He stepped back and the woman worked a control at the front of the ship, releasing his restraints. Krasen remained seated, waiting. The man nodded approvingly.

"Prudent." He pointed at the belt. "That item is customarily used for criminal restraint. If either of us presses a control that we carry, a pulse will spread throughout your nervous system, shutting down control of your voluntary muscles. The effect is not damaging, but it is extraordinarily painful and it lasts for several minutes. I recommend not testing it."

"Acknowledged." Krasen stood up and headed for the portal the man pointed to. The door slid open, and the three of them moved into an empty corridor.

"Ahead, to the intersection, turn left, third door," the woman said.

Krasen followed directions to a nondescript door, identical to all the others along the corridor. The man held up a hand. "Within the room you will meet Admiral Shon, the leader of this expedition. It is probable that some of his senior officers will also be present. Some of them are Human, some are not. Many personnel in this fleet are hybrids, like my mate and I. Prepare yourself psychologically."

The door opened and Krasen stepped through. Then he stopped in shock, despite the warning. The Vulcan who stood at the end of the table wore a uniform similar to his captors, but adorned with considerably more metallic decorations. He was of middle years, with multiple scars on his face and neck.

A sick looking Andorian sat to the left of the Vulcan. She, too, wore the uniform but her decorative trim and patches were a different color. Krasen had never seen anyone from her world that looked so gaunt and pale.

To the right was a Human male of late years, nearly bald, with eyes that squinted and never stopped moving. Beside the Human, a woman of an unknown race was sitting. Superficially she looked Human, but Krasen thought the spots that ran down the back of her neck were probably natural.

His escorts stepped up and offered Human salutes. The Vulcan returned them and said, "Captain Simpson, Commander Simpson, welcome back." He looked at Krasen and raised his hand. "Welcome to you also, Krasen. Your name is familiar to all in our time who carry the blood of Vulcan."

Krasen straightened grimly. He debated, and finally raised his hand in return. "Greetings. Logic informs me that you are probably Admiral Shon."

"I am he," the admiral said. "Be seated Krasen, and we will commence this discussion." Shon half turned. "To my left is Specialist Larin, physicist and expert in temporal mechanics." He gestured at the Human. "To my right is Captain Marcon, who commands this craft. To his right is Lieutenant Commander Eszola, our chief engineer."

Krasen made a final scan of the room and sat down. "I am told that you wish me to join you, because in your original time line I performed some action or actions that you consider desirable. Is this correct?"

"Succinct but accurate," Shon said. "Have you come to accept that we are, in fact, from your future?"

Krasen examined him critically. "Multiple possible explanations remain. However, I am willing to acknowledge that the one you offer is not the least plausible one."

"Excellent." Shon did not smile, but his eyes crinkled faintly. "You would not be the man we remember, if you accepted us merely on the basis of a brief explanation and the small evidence we have offered you to this point. If you are willing to accept the possibility, that will be sufficient for now."

"If I accept your explanation," Krasen said, "I am still uncertain about the value of aiding you. It seems that your actions are motivated by greed, and a desire to improve your own circumstances."

"Hardly." The Andorian, Larin, sounded as weak as she looked. But her voice was clear. "We desire to preserve billions of lives. I, personally, desire to save my species from extinction. We desire to preserve the cultural history of multiple races that was wantonly destroyed by the Cardassians and Klingons in their rampage across the quadrant. If we are successful at all of this, I do not begrudge my comrades any material reward that they may be able to arrange for themselves. In my opinion, they will have earned anything they can get."

"What about your motivation?" The Human captain asked him. "What are you fighting for, if not for a better life for yourself and your family?"

Krasen's face tightened, but he did not reply.

"I am not certain as to precisely what the Simpsons have told you about our intentions," Shon glanced quizzically at the two figures standing behind Krasen. "Our primary purpose is to prevent the collapse of the Terran empire by correcting its internal flaws. Once this is done, we are convinced that the empire will be capable of withstanding all challenges for the foreseeable future."

Shon put his fingertips together. "When we finally conclude that our work is done, does it matter whether we choose to retire to a cave and live in rags? Or use our knowledge and skills to obtain luxurious accommodations? What matters is that the temple on Mt. Seleya will not be bombed, and the mind masters of Gol will not be burned alive in their retreat, and the ancient family shrines will still exist. The Andorians will survive as a viable race. Children of all species will not be screaming as they are put to the sword."

Krasen swallowed. "What do you want from me?"

"Much." Shon leaned forward. "But first, there are things you need to understand." He glanced past Krasen. "You two should return. The projections indicate that things will be coming to a crisis point within seventy-two hours."

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 23 HOURS**

"Yes, your majesty." Tucker stood in front of the monitor in his command center. Personnel bustled and hurried behind him in every direction, pretending not to be listening intently.

"We have two ships of the task force remaining. The _Gilgamesh_ has been retrofitted with new phase cannon, and the torpedo racks are being installed as we speak. The _Stalingrad_ is moving into dock now. We will be upgrading her internally at the same time as we install the torpedo racks. ETA for total completion is thirty-one hours," he said.

"Eight hours over deadline." Hoshi's voice was flat and cold.

"Yes, ma'am," Tucker said. "I accept full responsibility, ma'am. My people have performed above and beyond throughout the entire project, your majesty. The fault is mine alone."

"Really?" Hoshi leaned back and twirled her hair. "You, personally, we out there in free fall welding those torpedo launchers into place. Is that what you are telling me?"

Tucker winced. "No, ma'am, but-"

"Then, perhaps, commodore" Hoshi lunged forward in her seat. "perhaps it was you who dawdled over installing the new phase cannons? Or who dithered and wasted time on the shield upgrades?"

"The torpedo racks were the chokepoint, ma'am," Tucker said. "The fault is mine for not requesting additional manpower and supplies."

"I see." Hoshi sat back. "Since you are so concerned about covering the deficiencies of your people, I think I will choose some of your technicians to make an example of. Perhaps next time you will be more thorough in your time estimates." She smirked.

"Ma'am, please!"

"You are eight hours over deadline, Tucker. Choose eight of your people. Any eight, I don't care which ones, and send me their bodies within one hour." The screen went blank.

Tucker stood frozen for a long moment while silence took hold in the command center. He turned slowly, as if in a daze and walked over to the comm. "Connect with my quarters."

"Yes, sir," The wide-eyed ensign whispered.

_"T'Pol, here."_

Tucker licked his lips. "Fire Escape. Now."

_"Acknowledged."_

He turned back to the room and looked around. All eyes were fixed on him, staring, uncertain, frightened. He lifted his chin. "We knew this was coming. I wanted to wait a while longer, but the empress won't let me. I am NOT going to kill any of my people because she is having one of her temper tantrums."

The room shifted from stiff and worried, to tense and ready. "We're ready, sir," Drew said. The fire in his eye was matched by everyone else in the room.

Tucker nodded and turned back to the comm. "Get me Anna. Clear channel is fine."

_"Commander Hess here."_

"It's me, Anna," Tucker said. He took a deep breath. "It's time. Phase Three. Guillotine."

**ANDORIAN CAMPAIGN, FLEET LAUNCH MINUS 23 HOURS**

Travis stepped down beside the command chair with a concerned expression. He leaned close and whispered, "I really wish you hadn't done that."

She glared at him. "We've been giving Tucker too long a leash." She pressed a button on the arm of the chair. "Commander Cole to the bridge."

Mayweather looked down at her, shaking his head slowly. "What?" she demanded.

He said, "I've never understood the way your mind works. The man is behind schedule because he's shorthanded, so your solution is to deprive him of eight more people. Interesting."

The turbolift doors opened and Cole stepped onto the bridge. Hoshi pressed her lips together and turned the chair to face the newcomer. "Commander, I have ordered Commodore Tucker to deliver to me the bodies of eight technicians within the hour. If he fails to obey, gather an adequate Security team and bring him here to me. Understand?"

Cole's face broke into a smile that was as ravenous as it was irrational. "Understood perfectly, your majesty. I will-"

The bridge went dark. An instant later, the red emergency lighting came on. "Everyone freeze!" Travis ordered. He scanned the area. Aside from emergency lighting, there was no other sign of functioning machinery. All consoles were dead, indicator panels and overhead lights were out. The air was silent. Life support air circulation fans had stopped.

He looked down at Hoshi, who stared back at him. "Like I said," Travis muttered, "I really wish you hadn't done that." He walked over to the turbolift, which refused to open.

Hoshi squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. "Communications," she said, "get me engineering."

"Unable to comply, ma'am," the board operator said timidly. "All power has been cut."

"You will notice," Mayweather said quietly, "the air isn't moving either. If I recall correctly, the database specs state that with life support completely inactive, the air on this bridge will support a full crew for one hour. We have a full crew, plus bodyguards, plus Cole."

_"That's easily remedied, admiral." _

The voice came out of the navigational console, which should not have been able to transmit a voice signal. But it was unmistakably Anna Hess.

"Hello, commander," Travis said easily. "I don't suppose you would be willing to discuss the matter?"

_"That's not for me to say, sir. All decisions are in the hands of Commodore Tucker. I will tell you that we offered to put him on the throne, more than once, and he refused it. Therefore it is likely that he will be willing to discuss the matter eventually."_

"That miserable son of an Orion whore!" Cole seethed and stomped toward the console, causing the navigator to duck out of the way with a frightened expression. She raised her prosthetic arm and extruded the gun. "I'll discuss it with him all right."

"Cole! Halt!" She locked up. Travis glowered. "Attention!" She snapped into upright posture like a robot, and remained there.

_"As I said, admiral. We can at least do something to remedy the air problem. It won't cure it, but it will help alleviate some of your problem until the Commodore is able to spare the time to talk to you." _

Cole screamed and clutched at her arm. She spasmed backward and fell to the deck, shrieking while smoke rose from her skin. Sparks began to fly, and trails of current raced across her arm and torso. Finally, she jacknifed onto her side and stopped breathing.

_There you are, admiral. That should spare you are few more minutes of air. I'm certain that the Commodore will be in touch with you at his earliest convenience."_

"Most kind of him," Travis said wryly. He looked down at Hoshi and sighed. "Like I said, I will never understand how your mind works."

"So here we sit, trapped," Sato snarled, "while Tucker toasts his victory and laughs at us."

"Doubtful." Travis strolled over to the storage locker and opened the door, revealing a rack of pressure suits. He examined several, nodding, then closed the door. "As I expected. Power packs drained."

"Doubtful?" Hoshi looked around the bridge, where everyone else was sitting or standing very quietly indeed. "What do you think he's doing then?"

"If I had to guess," Travis mused, "I would say he's probably killing the High Command right about now."

TBC


	31. Chapter 31

**Payment**

**By****Blacknblue****(aka****Bluenblack)**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Trek. I wrote this for fun. Anyone is free to download and/or redistribute this story as long as you keep it complete and intact, and as long as you don't make any money from it.

**Note:** Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself.

**A/N:** There is not a lot of action in this chapter. Some, but not a lot. Mostly it's full of explanations and tying up loose ends. Situations get resolved, mysteries get explained, and plans get clarified. Only a few hundred people get killed, at most.

Also, I'm reminded to give another thanks to Asso, the evil physician, for helping me plan Reed's murder so long ago. Last, but certainly not least, one final acknowledgment to Rigil Kent, who originally inspired this story and got the ball rolling.

_[Folks have been sending me PMs, asking for the title of my original book. I feel bad about this, and I'm honestly not trying to be a... whatever. But if you're gonna hire somebody for advice, you might as well follow it. _

_I'll give you a little more information. The one (1) word title is the name of the object that is shown on the cover. The object is a tool with a blade, and it's associated with witches. That should do it. Google can be your friend. Try searching witch+tool+blade. Then plug the result into Amazon's epic fantasy list. _

_If I say any more I'll get smacked, and not in a fun way.]_

**ENGINEER REVOLT 0.5 HOURS**

The bond was humming with energy, but nothing seemed to be wrong. He kept getting an impression of T'Pol and the bio-cylinder, alone in the auxiliary control room. Her eagerness to join him was conflicting with her primal need to guard her baby. He tried to send back soothing thoughts, most likely a useless effort.

Reports were coming in, thick and fast.

Starfleet HQ was caught completely by surprise. The engineering staff had practically been handed the place on a silver platter. All they had to do was activate the automatic defense mechanism and seal off the exits. Then they told the central computer that headquarters was under attack by poison gas and radioactive weapons. The system obligingly sealed off all outside ventilation.

Technicians in the basement had strolled along a pipe tunnel, manually shutting off half a dozen air flow valves. Then the staff in central maintenance activated the intruder defense gas. Thirty minutes later, everyone except the engineering staff was unconscious. Forty-two minutes after that, the last senior officer at HQ was dead.

The highest ranking engineers on Terra moved into HQ and started going through files, trying to get a handle on the High Command's overall battle strategy. From the reports Tucker received, it seemed like the existing strategy was 'swing wild and pray'. He shook his head in disgust.

Three admirals, nine commodores, five generals, and a handful of colonels had been out and about on inspection tours. Or simply basking on various beaches. With Tucker's team in control of all communication equipment, it wasn't difficult to lure them into specially prepared vehicles. The transports were then targeted by sensor lock. The officers, and their bodyguards, were simply beamed out. They rematerialized at the bottom of the Marianas Trench.

The ships of the task force fell under engineering control almost instantly following Tucker's 'guillotine' command. His order spread through the rest of the fleet in the fashion of falling dominoes, and one-by-one confirmation returned that each retro-fitted ship had been successfully commandeered.

The ships that he had not been able to retro-fit were listed, and the commandeered NX vessels immediately set about finding and capturing them. With upgraded weapons and Tucker's supplemental equipment, no one anticipated significant difficulty carrying out his instructions. Once the new ships were secure, they would be sent trickling back to Jupiter station as the needs of combat allowed.

A tiny handful of remaining High Command members, the most junior members, were known to be aboard ships of the line in active combat. They, along with the captains and senior officers aboard (unless actually engaged with the enemy) were unceremoniously transported into space for a brief introduction into the subject of explosive hydrodynamics. Remaining officers aboard the battle cruisers were presented with a simple choice. Accept the new status quo or join their former superiors.

Tucker stayed glued to the comm, giving specific instructions to the crews of each ship. In general, he permitted the engineers already aboard to select which crew members would be eliminated. Only a small handful of the captains had previously received Tucker's personal blessing to survive. Even so, the number had to be adjusted slightly. Some of them panicked when the hammer hit the steel and had to be put down, and one of them tried to get clever. He ordered that particular captain handed over to the Gamma shift staff on latrine duty.

**ENGINEER REVOLT 0.5 HOURS**

"Your reluctance is logical, Krasen," Admiral Shon said. "Your first loyalty is to Vulcan. After that, to your comrades in the rebellion. I want you to consider the possibility that Vulcan's fate is inextricably tied to the empire."

"I reject that contention," Krasen said. "It is possible that Vulcan's circumstance will improve in a modified Terran empire. It is also possible that the rebellion is a lost cause, and aiding you in your effort is the best option available to me. But Vulcans do not require Human interference to prosper."

"I did not say, nor did I imply, that Vulcan required Humans in order to prosper," Shon reproved. "You conditioned enmity toward Humans is distorting your perception. However, the two worlds are never going to escape each other. Not while both of them retain viable populations. They can fight to the death, until one of them is destroyed. Or they can forge a system for coexistence. The only other option is shared slavery."

Krasen looked down, grinding his teeth. "Stipulated."

"Our purpose here," the Andorian, Larin, said, "is to adjust the structure of the empire to a configuration that makes life tolerable for all members of society. You may not be aware that most of the Humans in the empire do not live under appreciably better conditions than do the subject races. Only the ruling warrior class of Humans enjoy the fruits of victory. Tucker is in the process of changing that."

"What difference will that make to me? Or to any Vulcan?" Krasen growled. "He still has no reason to care about the non-Humans."

"Actually, he does," Larin said. "Tucker's own child is half-Vulcan. And many of his most loyal assistants are of mixed blood."

**ENGINEER REVOLT 0.75 HOURS**

Finally Tucker asked for contact with _Defiant_. "Anna, status report?"

_"They're not happy, Charles. The admiral is calm and collected, Sato is tearing out her hair, and everyone else is as nervous as a first year cadet in the senior shower." _

"I suppose I better talk to them. You mind patching me through?" He rubbed his aching forehead.

_"Not a problem. Give me just a minute."_

"Helen," he turned his head. "Can you get me a cup of- thanks." He took the steaming mug of coffee with pathetic gratitude. "Arrange for the the general's bodyguard detail to take a vacuum nap, and then transport him to, let me see." Tucker glanced around. "Over there, that corner. Dump him there and have a force field set up to hold him until I get around to him."

He hit the comm button again. "Auxiliary."

_"T'Pol here."_

"Looks clear. Go back home. I'll be sending you some company in a few minutes." The surge of ecstasy that screamed through the bond at him nearly knocked him off the chair.

The sound of a transporter announced the sparkling arrival of General Kuchera at the corner he had specified. A few seconds later, a force field shimmered into place. "Drew," Tucker said tiredly, "Take a few guys and stand over there by the general's corner. No reason not to be dignified about this. Gotta think about morale, ya know."

Kuchera looked slowly back and forth around the room. He stepped forward, only to bounce back from the force field and slide to his butt to the floor. "I wouldn't try it, general," Drew slurred. "Those things sting."

_"Anna here. I'm ready to connect you to Defiant's bridge."_

Tucker turned to face the viewscreen. "Do it."

**ENGINEER REVOLT 0.75 HOURS**

Travis moved slowly and thoughtfully around the bridge, examining every detail. Not that he expected to find anything that would help, but a lifetime of habit conditioned him to always be alert to every part of his environment. People stiffened as he passed, keeping their eyes forward. He flickered over them and went on without comment. His men were doing well, although he would never say it aloud. He was not displeased. The discipline of the MACOs was absolute, up to the point of agonizing death.

That was the real reason he had given Cole to Tucker. The woman had snapped. Unacceptable, for a MACO. Loss of a hand on duty was a minor impediment, easily correctable. And it had been corrected, with a prosthetic that was better than the original. Instead of accepting it and continuing with the discipline he expected of his people, she had let it feed her anger until it drove her to Reed's bed. Naturally, he had finished the process of destroying her in short order. No, she was not worthy to wear the uniform.

The rest of the bridge crew were not doing as badly as he expected. They were obviously terrified, but they did a moderate job of hiding it. With nothing constructive to do, they still sat ready for orders and tried to look alert. If they all survived this, which he was not prepared to wager on, he would see that they received commendations. Unless it became necessary to eliminate them as witnesses of course.

Hoshi had raged for a while, until he had quietly moved in and whispered to her that if she didn't settle down, he would settle her. She was in the command chair now, with folded hands, trying to look like she was thinking of a plan. A bit late for her to start thinking, in his opinion. She had served with Tucker for years before he, Mayweather, had ever set foot on _Enterprise_. She had even screwed the man. How she could be so blind to his methods was beyond him.

A sudden series of lights backlit the far wall. He turned to face the main screen and stepped down to stand beside Hoshi. It cleared to show Tucker's face, wearing a look of tired resignation. He stood up and offered a salute. "Your majesty, admiral. I deeply regret the necessity for this."

"Save the posturing, Tucker," Hoshi snarled. "Kill us and be done with it." Travis laid a hand on her arm and squeezed. Not hard enough to bruise, but she would feel it later.

"Your majesty," Tucker rubbed his eyes. "It may not be possible. But I still, sincerely, hope that there is a way we can strike an agreement that will allow the two of you to retain the throne."

"Hess told us," Travis kept his tone conversational, "that she offered to make you emperor, and you refused it."

Tucker grimaced. "My people get overly enthusiastic sometimes. But I told them I didn't want it, and I don't. Honestly, the two of you are better at the job than I would be."

"No!" Hoshi stood up, purple in the face. "I won't do it. I won't be your puppet, Tucker. Kill us and have done with it!"

Tucker sighed. "I have no interest in making puppets, your majesty." He looked at Travis. There are some things that I do want. A limited number of specific demands. If you are willing to agree to them, I am willing to return control of Starfleet to you, and support you unconditionally."

"I see." Travis stepped in front of the chair and turned to face Hoshi. He looked directly into her eyes for a moment. He breathing slowed and her face returned to its normal color. She sat down with glittering eyes. Travis turned back to the screen. "What, specifically, do you want?"

Tucker looked at him. Even through the screen, his eyes showed the depths behind them. Travis wondered again how anyone could fail to be aware of them. "I told you that I never betray anyone who doesn't betray me first. When the empress ordered me to murder my own people, simply because she happened to be in a bad mood, she was ordering me to betray them. To betray their trust in me. I would die before I did that. And there is no one in the galaxy that I would not kill, rather than do that."

Travis felt the corners of his lips turn up faintly. "I'm aware of how you operate, Tucker. Most of the officers who know you can't wrap their minds around it. It's alien to the way they think. But I understand."

"Yes, sir," Tucker said. "You understand, because you operate the same way." He picked up a coffee mug and took a sip. Then he made a face and shuddered.

"The same way?" Travis lifted an eyebrow. "Hardly."

Tucker glanced over his shoulder. "Helen, did you put _sugar_ in this?"

A woman's voice came from our of view range. "You skipped two meals. Your blood sugar levels are on the floor. You should drink it." He sighed and muttered something.

Travis chuckled. "When you take care of your people, they take care of you. That's what you're talking about."

"Partly." Tucker held the mug in both hands and looked serious. "Your MACOs talk about you, when they think they're alone. They say you're the only commander that they ever had who never passes out punishments unless someone screws up. It confuses them, but they like it. They say that they don't have to guess with you, that you have a clear set of rules for them to follow. What they find most amazing, is that you follow your own rules. They're not just afraid of you, they respect you."

Travis held very still for a moment. "Flattery isn't going to accomplish anything, Tucker."

He smiled. "You know me admiral. I also know you. Am I an idiot? Only an idiot would try flattery on you. I just want to point out that you understand the basic principles that I operate under. So does her majesty. She has her unbreakable rule, about always rewarding good service, and always punishing mistakes. She isn't as clear cut about it, but the principle is the same."

Tucker paused to turn his eyes past Travis to Hoshi. "If she had kept following that rule, we wouldn't be in this position, now. I did nothing to earn the punishment she chose to inflict. And even if I had, my people certainly hadn't."

Hoshi flinched almost imperceptibly but said nothing. Tucker looked back at Travis and went on. "It all has to do with some words that nobody uses anymore. Duty. Honor. Justice. There is no justice in the empire now. Not for Humans, and not for the subject races. No justice for anyone, and no honor among the High families at all. All we ever hear about is duty, and then only the duty of obedience. It used to be said, 'duty is a sword with two edges'. Now, one of those edges has been blunted."

"What do you expect us to do, Tucker?" Hoshi broke in, unable to keep her mouth shut any longer. "The High families hold the power, they always have. To challenge them is suicide. I suppose you are just going to pat the High families on the head and tell them to be good and put up with it?" she sneered.

"So you were willing to break your own rule, and sacrifice eight loyal people to placate them?" Tucker said. "It doesn't matter, now. Most of them are dead," She blinked.

"I have already killed every flag officer in the high command," he paused, "with the except of General Kuchera. Most of the officers above captain are dead, and all but a few captains have been given to their crews to play with. Every ship I retrofitted is now under the command of the engineers. The rest of the fleet soon will be. I haven't killed the civilian government appointees yet, it depends on how things go."

Travis, nodded, unsurprised. But Hoshi uncoiled from the command chair and shrieked, "You fool! You've destroyed the empire! Without experienced commanders, the rebellion will tear us to pieces."

"Not likely," Tucker sat down and took another sip of coffee, shuddering as it went down. He glanced back again. "Helen, I can't stand this. I'm sorry, but I can't take sugar in my coffee. Bring me another cup please, and if nothing else will satisfy you bring me a cookie or something. But I can't drink this swill." He looked back at the screen.

"If the commanders we had up to this point were competent," Tucker said, "we would have won the war six months ago. Most of the captains today, and all of the upper level officers, were promoted based on who their relatives are. Their skills as officers never entered into it. The junior officers are usually the ones who keep the ships operating. Remember Forrest? How often did he use you, and T'Pol, and Archer, and me, to do the actual running of the ship while he sat in his ready room reading porn?"

"Captain Forrest was a great man!"

"If he was so great, why was Archer able to knock him out of the big chair so easy?" Tucker took a new mug from a slim female arm that entered the screen. "Thanks, Helen. Look, your majesty. We're in no danger of losing the war. First, because the competent officers are still in place, and now they are free to actually get something done. Second, because I just got word back from Rigil. The rebellion's main supply base there is destroyed. Third, because I expect to hear word at any time from Andoria that the main shipyards are destroyed."

He took a long drink and let out his breath. "Much better."

Hoshi stared and sat down. Travis pulled on his lower lip. "Interesting," he said. "Mind explaining how you managed that?"

Tucker nodded. "Certainly, admiral." He put down the mug. "I cracked open _Defiant's_ classified files. Don't bother trying, I erased them from the memory core once I copied them. Anyway, the Romulans of that universe had a working cloak. It's technically deficient in several ways. It sucks power like you wouldn't believe, It slows the ship down, you can't run shields or fire a weapon while you're cloaked, and it still doesn't do a perfect job of hiding a ship. But it works, sort of. The Humans on that side figured to hell with it, and concentrated on maximizing firepower and shield strength. But the intel for the cloaking device was in _Defiant's_ Most Secret classified section."

"So you built one," Travis nodded understanding, with his mind calculating possibilities at lightspeed.

"Actually, I had my people build two," Tucker said. "We arranged for the _Kodiak_ and the _Hannibal_ to be 'lost' in combat. It didn't take long with the replicators to produce what they needed. Then _Kodiak_ headed for Rigel, and _Hannibal_ headed for Andoria. When _Kodiak_ got to Rigil, they dropped two shuttlepods on remote control, both of them loaded with three photon warheads apiece. Between then, the pods took out the main reactor and caused a chain of containment failures in nearly every ship that was docked at the supply station. It's all gravel now."

For once, Travis looked and saw Hoshi speechless.

Tucker said, "I figure _Hannibal_ should be back in subspace range sometime tonight, or early tomorrow. That blasted cloak cuts down on communication range too. But there's no reason that they should have had any trouble."

"You expect us to rule as figureheads, then." Hoshi said grimly. "After a pair of victories like that, no one will doubt who's really in charge."

"No one will doubt, your majesty, that you and Admiral Mayweather are in charge," Tucker said. "Not after we make it known that the whole business of fleet preparation was actually a smokescreen for the stealth attack that you and the admiral had been planning all along."

She sat still. "Why? Why would you do that?"

"He just told us why," Travis murmured softly. "Permit me, my dear." He patted her arm. "I'll handle this for now." She looked at him in confusion and settled back.

"I honestly don't want to rule, your majesty," Tucker said.

"Then what DO you want?" Hoshi pounded her fist on the arm of the chair. "Say it straight out."

"I want what you promised me. Plus a few other things that should have already been in place." Tucker rubbed his eyes. "We really need to go full speed ahead on improving our ships, before the Romulans invade. We all know they're coming."

"A valid point," Travis nodded. "Now is not the time to be weakening the empire. The Romulans are already working with the rebels, giving them supplies and guns. If we don't settle this rebellion soon, they will decide that both of us are weak enough to strike."

"Yes, sir," Tucker agreed. "By the way. Anna, are you monitoring?"

_"Yes, commodore." _

"Turn the lights on over there, will you? I like to see people's expressions when I'm talking to them. And crank up the air circulation while you're at it. Activate the head, too."

_Yes, commodore."_

The bridge lights flashed back on, blinding everyone temporarily. Air fans activated, moving and cooling the stagnant air. "Thank you, Tucker," Travis said with a poker face. "That was thoughtful of you."

"Sorry I didn't think of it before now," he said. "Short on sleep."

"What are the rest of your demands?" Travis asked.

Tucker stood up. "I'm going to send over a list for you to review. I expect you'll have objections, and questions. Please look it over. I'll call you back in an hour."

A moment later, a transporter effect faded to reveal a PADD on the console in front of them.

**ENGINEER REVOLT PLUS 1.0 HOURS**

Tucker rubbed his chin thoughtfully and walked over to stand in front of Kuchera. The old man drew himself up and met Tucker's look with defiance.

"Since I'm not dead," Kuchera said, "I presume you plan to make an example of me. Perhaps something public, as a symbolic purging of the old guard?"

Tucker considered him. "You were there at the beginning. You lived in the days when duty used to cut in both directions. You watched honor die, and you did nothing. You watched the rot set in, and you did nothing. You saw the corruption spread, you watched nepotism become a way of life, and you did nothing. You were the greatest hero in the empire. Everyone would have listened to you. You could at least have tried. But you did nothing."

The old man looked past him and made no reply.

Tucker shook his head and ordered, "Turn off the force field." The low humming stopped. "Drew." The big man stepped up. "Take him to my quarters." Tucker looked at his bodyguard. "Leave him there," he said significantly. "Without supervision."

Jaws and temples tightened all over the room, but no one said a word. Drew nodded and grabbed Kuchera's arm. As the pair left Tucker said, quietly, "The universe is constantly at work to strike a balance. It hates imbalance. Pressure always flow to equalize itself. Heat always flows to equalize temperature. Fluid always levels itself. Nature itself is always working to strike a balance between predator and prey."

Kuchera stopped and looked back. "Part of your personal philosophy I suppose?" He didn't sound interested.

"Not really," Tucker said. "Just an observation of fact. It's interesting though, that the symbol for justice is a pair of balance scales. Something you might consider in the near future, general." He nodded to Drew and the pair left.

Tucker turned to Helen. "Any of the bourbon left?"

**ENGINEER REVOLT 1.25 HOURS**

The door opened in front of Kuchera. "Go on in." He looked at the gigantic young man beside him.

"Why?" He looked at the lad. "What did Tucker offer you, to persuade you to betray your duty?"

The technician turned bodyguard flared his nostrils. "You're too far gone, old man. You wouldn't understand if I tried to tell you. Get in there."

The general straightened his shoulders and stepped through. The portal whooshed shut behind him, leaving a brief moment of silence. He turned slowly, examining the area. He stopped, rigid, at the sight of the slim figure standing in the shadowed alcove near the bed.

{Butcher}

The voice spoke in formal ancient Vulcan. It had been many years, but he still remembered. He would remember every day of that time until his last breath. A slim woman, that he recognized from holograms as Tucker's Vulcan concubine, sauntered leisurely into the light.

{Long have the cries of thy victims rung in the ears of every Vulcan. Tonight thou shalt begin to taste recompense.}

She wore no weapon. Small help to him. An average Vulcan woman was as strong as a Human man, and at his age she would have no difficulty overpowering him. At his age, a Vulcan child would have no difficulty overpowering him.

{He promised me that thou wouldst be mine. My mate is an honorable man. The only honorable Human I have ever known. Tonight, I will show thee what honor, and justice, means to a Vulcan.}

Kuchera started backing away, searching the room for something, anything, that he might use as a weapon. There was nothing. The woman stopped two paces in front of him and raised one hand. Her fingers were spread in what he recognized as the placement for a mind meld. His blood froze.

She smiled.

**ENGINEER REVOLT 1.25 HOURS**

"This is insane." Hoshi raised her arm as if to fling the PADD and Travis moved like a snake, intercepting her hand. She jerked loose, leaving the PADD in his posession. "He can't expect us to agree to this."

Travis scanned the list quickly, then went back to read it again.

"He wants to be in overall charge of all Starfleet engineers, both aboard ship and ground based. He also wants freedom to set engineering standards for the entire fleet, and authority to see that they are complied with." He looked up. "I have no problem at all with that. It's an excellent idea."

"That's not what I meant!" Hoshi was snarling like a scalded dog. "Read the rest of it."

"Hm," Travis said. "One, all existing laws and regulations to be enforced without fear or favor, including those against nepotism, regardless of the social or economic class of the offender.

"Two, criminal punishment to be applied equally to anyone convicted, again regardless of family connections or wealth. Anyone caught administering laws or regulations, Starfleet or civilian, other than in an equitable manner to be sentenced to a lifetime at hard labor.

"Three, bribery to be made a capital crime, with the penalty to be public execution by slow torture."

He scrolled the PADD. "Four, basic citizen's rights, as defined in the Code of the Imperium, to be upheld; including the right to be secure against search, seizure, and involuntary servitude except under lawfully issued authority in compliance with prescribed judicial procedure. Public officials convicted of willfully violating a citizen's basic rights to be sentenced to a lifetime at hard labor."

He chewed his tongue thoughtfully. "If most of the High families are already dead, and the others are in Tucker's gun sights, I think this might be achievable. One thing that the High families did manage to do was to condition their followers into accepting the authority of anyone who had the power to hurt them. And Tucker has the power to hurt anyone he chooses."

"Including us," she simmered. "He expects us to tolerate this kind of arrogance?"

Travis chuckled with honest humor. "You don't seem to grasp the situation, dearest. It isn't a choice between accepting these demands or refusing to comply. We have a choice between accepting them or death."

"I would rather die!" she raged.

"I would not," Travis said flatly. Hoshi clapped her mouth shut, but her nostrils flared. "Not if we can reach anything like a reasonable accommodation with the man. Weren't you the one who kept preaching at me that the position of ruler requires the constant balancing of various interest groups and power blocs?"

"He has a blade to our throats!"

'So did the High Command," Travis said coldly. "But you had no problem groveling in the dirt at their feet. Personally, I rather enjoy the thought of an empire without our anointed ones issuing their divine proclamations." She tightened her mouth.

He looked back at the PADD. "Oh, I see." He looked up with a gleam in his eyes. "This must be what set you off. He wants everyone who carries Terran blood, including mixed breeds, to be recognized as a citizen of the empire by right of birth."

"I would rather die than live in such an empire," she said ominously.

He stepped close and whispered in her ear, "That can easily be arranged, dearest one. I would prefer not to lose your delightfully distracting presence. But above all, I intend to live. Make up your mind quickly." When he pulled back she was pale and stiff, staring at the blank viewscreen and gripping the chair arms with white knuckles.

Travis read the next demand on the list and paused. He lowered the PADD and rubbed his chin, looking around the bridge. "Corrigan."

The MACO stepped forward stiffly. "Sir."

"Let me ask you something, Corporal Corrigan," Travis said. "What would you say if the old dueling standard was reinstated? If assassination was outlawed, and anyone who wanted to challenge a superior for their position had to do it openly and formally? If their qualifications had to be approved beforehand, to show that that were actually fit to hold the new position? And then, the fight had to be monitored by a neutral third party who wasn't in the chain of command?"

"Sir?" The MACO's face showed shock, quickly covered. "I don't know, sir."

"It's all right, corporal," Travis told him. "Give me your honest opinion. No punishment for an honest answer."

The man blinked. "I like the idea, sir."

"You would see nothing wrong with it, then?"

"No, sir," Corrigan said. "Permission to ask a question, sir?"

"Go ahead," Travis said.

"I didn't know it used to be done that way. Why did we stop?"

"A variety of reasons, corporal," Travis told him. "None of them good. Back to your post."

He turned to Hoshi. "I can live with that one, too. It will be inconvenient. But it will also improve the quality of the upper ranks. Especially if we get rid of the nepotism."

"Read the last one, then," she said. "If you think he's so reasonable."

Travis scanned it. "All terms of the original peace treaties and terms of surrender, with all subject worlds, to be strictly adhered to in every particular."

"Does he have any idea," she whispered viciously, "what that would do to our logistics? To our fleet disbursement?"

"To our wealth?" Travis scratched his nose. "Yes, I think he does. Exactly why he put that one on the list is something you are welcome to ask him about when he calls back." he leaned closer and whispered almost inaudibly. "But be aware, dear heart, that if you make him angry enough to shut us off and leave us here to smother, I will break your neck."

**ENGINEER REVOLT 1.5 HOURS**

_"I still can't believe it's working. I watched it move into place, I watch it activate, and I still can't believe it." _

_"Why? Tucker has been confirmed to have a genius plus intelligence rating. From all we have been able to gather, he has been planning this for most of his life. Why do you find it surprising?"_

_"I suppose because I never really believed the theory about single individuals changing history. It never seemed... logical to me. I always thought of history in terms of broad changes and large movements. You know, the moment makes the man."_

_"It does not have to be one or the other. I agree that in most cases, the forces of historical circumstance are too large and powerful for one individual to change. But this is where the cusp theory comes in." _

_"*sigh* I suppose. Anyway, is there anything we need to do? Or should we just observe and keep our hands off?" _

_"For now, I recommend watching and maintaining guard. Now would be an extraordinarily inconvenient time for an assassin to strike."_

**ENGINEER REVOLT 2.0 HOURS**

"You're hopelessly naive, Tucker." Hoshi snorted.

"Perhaps I am." He stood facing the screen. "But that's what I want."

"Tell me, Tucker," Travis leaned his elbow on th back of the command chair. "Why did you include that demand about the subject worlds? What do you care whether the terms of those treaties are honored? Was that something you worked out with your Vulcan?" Hoshi grimaced at the question.

"No, sir. Not really." He rubbed his face and looked tired. "The rebels have a justifiable grievance, admiral. We all know it, even though it would have been sedition under the old High Command to admit it. We call them subject worlds, but they call themselves, slaves. Their description is really the accurate one."

"You didn't answer his question, Tucker," Hoshi hissed. "You're good at that. Why do you even care?"

"Because, your majesty, if we leave things as they are another rebellion will break out sooner or later," he said. "The subject races are not stupid. Just because they're not as good at killing as we are, doesn't make them stupid. They will learn from this war, and they will do a better job of planning the next one. Even if they lose it, the next one will hurt us even worse than this one. We need to make an effort to show them that we are willing to give a little. To show them that they can gain at least some of what they want without tearing the empire down."

Hoshi looked like someone had smacked her, hard. She blinked and considered. "You seriously expect us to believe that's your actual reason?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Tucker asked. He looked at Travis. "Admiral, my people and I never tried to overthrow the empire. We overthrew the High families. But we are just as Terran as you and your MACOs. This is our home, and we will defend it. What we want is to make it into a place more worthy of being defended."

"You have been planning this for a long time, haven't you?" Travis mused. "Perhaps, ever since your sister died?"

Tucker clenched his jaws and fists. He obviously fought for control. Then he closed his eyes, let out a deep sigh, and visibly relaxed. When he opened his eyes again, they were as cold as the Antarctic ice cap.

"Yes, admiral. You are correct." Tucker stopped talking to breathe heavily.

"So," Travis nodded. "She's the reason you decided to dedicate your entire life to destroying the High families and turning the empire upside down? Impressive."

"My sister and my father." Tucker rubbed his forehead. "After my mother died, it was just dad, my sister, and me. My other siblings didn't make it very far. Life was rough where I grew up. Lizzie-" He looked away.

"It seems that Magistrate Jeffries found her guilty of petty theft," Travis said easily. "She was sentenced to hard labor on Luna, but was shot trying to escape." For a flickering instant, he thought he had gone too far. But no, Tucker managed to drag his self-control back by his fingernails.

"That's the official story, admiral," Tucker said tonelessly. "Actually, she was 'informally conscripted' to be a 'house servant' for the magistrate. Jeffries had a reputation for using girls up, and then selling them to off-planet brothels when he finished with them. My father went crazy with grief and rage. By the time I realized that he had gone to confront the son of... the magistrate, it was too late. Dad actually fought his way past the door guard and into the front hallway before they crippled him. Then Jeffries dragged Elizabeth out and cut her throat in front of dad's eyes. I got there just as they were tossing both bodies into the street." He half turned away, working his hands open and closed.

"That explains why the magistrate was later found dead, in a drug den in the worst part of town, with enough Morellen juice in his veins to poison a buffalo," Travis nodded. "I'm guessing Captain Jeffries was collateral damage?"

"Not really," Tucker grated. He turned back. "Or not completely. Black wanted to take the captain's chair. He promised Archer a promotion if he helped. They needed someone, anyone, to take care of some things in engineering for them. I spotted what was going on and made the offer. It was like a gift from the universe, and I wasn't going to turn it down. The deal was that when Black took the chair, Archer and I would get promotions aboard another ship."

"I don't see anything on this list that we can't live with," Travis said, smiling. "Do you, dearest?"

Hoshi sounded beleaguered. "I won't let those monstrous half-breeds strut around like people and pretend to be citizens of the empire. I won't do it." She looked at Travis, then at the screen.

"I'm afraid that's a deal breaker, your majesty," Tucker sat down. "A lot of my people are part Betazoid. I never would have been able to get this far without them."

_"Betazoid!"_ Hoshi looked ready to throw up.

"That would explain how you stayed so well informed," Travis pursed his lips. "Would you be willing to put them to work for the good of the empire?"

"We are Starfleet officers, admiral," Tucker said. "We always obey orders."

Hoshi choked. "Is that how you killed Reed?" she asked bitterly. "Did you use one of those mind leeches to rip his brain apart?"

"Actually, ma'am," Tucker said reproachfully, "Betazoids can't do that. It's a myth started by the High Command. Most of them can only detect emotions, and some of them can only detect strong emotions at close range."

"How _did_ you kill Reed, anyway?" Travis walked across and sat down in the navigator's chair, which the young man had vacated as soon as the screen lit up.

"That was nothing." Tucker waved a hand. "Transported an air bubble into his heart. By the time the doc got to look at him, it was already absorbed into the tissues."

"Murder by transporter," Travis raised both eyebrows. "Unconventional weapons are always fascinating."

"Comes from growing up in the slums, admiral," Tucker said. "We didn't have guns. Even if we had been allowed, we were too poor. So we learned young that anything can be a weapon. Anything at all. The best weapons are the ones that nobody recognizes."

"I see." Travis looked at Hoshi. "We can adapt to having mixed breed citizens. We don't need to like it. Any other demands?"

"Not on my part," Tucker said. "But I let each ship's complement of engineers settle their personnel issues for themselves. Do you have any deal breakers, Anna?" Both Travis and Hoshi came to their feet.

_"At the moment, only this. Engineering is off-limits to unauthorized personnel. Only the senior engineer on duty can authorize someone. Engineering guards have authority to shoot to kill any intruder without warning, regardless of rank."_

"There is no one you want killed?" Travis asked idly, glancing down at Cole's body.

_"No, sir. That's been taken care of, sir. Please remember, sir. The bridge crew is not guilty of any crime, and regulations specify that they may not be punished without cause."_

"This is going to take some getting used to." Travis looked at Hoshi, who wore an expression of glum resignation. "But, we have an agreement."

Every panel and console came back to life.

**ENGINEER REVOLT 3.0 HOURS**

Krasen stared through the viewport at the planet below. "I had never thought to see it again."

"Predicting the future is chancy business," Larin told him, looking amused. "Do you have any last questions? It is not likely that we will contact you again, unless trouble comes up."

Krasen turned. "No. Your information is clear enough. Whether I will follow your preferences remains to be seen."

"Naturally," she said. "You still have free will. But now you cannot claim ignorance of the potential harm that your choices might inflict. If you are ready," she pointed, "please step onto the pad."

The transporter she indicated was similar in general layout to the standard Starfleet equipment. But it was larger, with more transport units clustered together, and they pads themselves were constructed of an unfamiliar material. None of which was relevant, he told himself sternly. Krasen stepped up onto a pad and faced the console. "I am ready."

"Energize," the Andorian ordered. The Human technician behind the console moved his hand over the controls, and the room faded from view. He returned to reality in a stone corridor that he had seen before, though not for many years.

He headed down the hallway, following the mathematically exact curves and angles until he reached a heavily carved door. Now would be the first test of the information that they had given him. If she was behind that door, then it was possible that the rest of their information was also correct. He pressed the button to announce himself. It slid open and he stepped inside.

The older woman turned from her worktable and looked at him. Neither spoke for a time. Then Krasen stepped forward with his arms crossed and his head bowed. "Mother."

V'Lar crossed her arms and accepted the greeting with eyes that were perilously close to being damp. "My son. I have grieved for your absence, unable to cast out the fear of your death. I had not known that you accepted the amnesty."

"I have considered the matter carefully," he said. "I have concluded that the rebellion is a lost cause. Therefore, the logical course of action is to minimize the damage to our people and, if possible, try to gain advantages from the situation."

"You could not possibly have chosen words more calculated to bring me joy," V'Lar said. Even her voice was not completely steady. "Come with me, son. It is time for the council to meet. I wish to introduce you. Henceforth, you will act as my primary assistant. Together we will work to improve the lives of our people."

"I am here to serve, mother." He bowed, and followed her out the door.

**TEMPORAL VORTEX, STARSHIP YELLOWJACKET, TIME FRAME INDETERMINATE**

_"Now, that was about the most interesting year I can recall since the siege of Alcon IV. It's good to see you looking normal again, hun. I missed those cute ears of yours." _

_"It is agreeable that you find my ears pleasing. Your physical attributes are also attractive." _

_"Why you silver-tongued devil. Keep it up and I'll break out the chocolate tonight. It looks like the admiral isn't taking any chances, since we're only jumping ahead twenty years this time." _

_"It is logical to proceed with caution. While in theory we might have the option of returning to a prior point in the time line, in practicality it would be challenging to the point of impossible." _

_"Do you think Larin is right? That all the time lines already exist, and when we go back to change something all we really do is select a different time line for ourselves? If that's the case, then the original time line where the empire fell is still there. And nothing we did will make any difference."_

_The multiverse theory states that anything that can happen, will happen or did happen. Therefore, every imaginable possibility does exist somewhere. But in pragmatic terms, does it matter? We are here, and by making the changes we did, we have forever removed the possibility for ourselves of returning to that time line."_

_"Not necessarily, hun. Think about it. We managed to find a way to cut sideways across time to visit the alternate universe where we snagged Defiant. Maybe we could cut sideways and visit our old home time line too... what was that sigh for?" _

_"I do not understand the way your mind works. I fear I never will." _

_"Don't worry about it, dear. You've got cute ears, you don't have to be a psychologist too." _

_"I am experiencing fervent relief." _

_"Don't be snide, or I'll pinch you. I just can't help thinking about the possibilities sometimes. A universe where none of the worlds developed life. Or a world where Terra was never hit by the asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs. Or maybe a world where world war 3 never happened. Can you imagine what that would be like? To live in a world that didn't have to deal with the aftermath of the eugenics war? _

_"Easily. Without the damage from the war, technical knowledge would have advanced much more quickly. Beyond question, Humans would have established permanent lunar colonies by the latter part of the 20th century, and would have launched their first interstellar craft by the beginning of the 21st century. There would have been nothing to stop them." _

_"Wouldn't that have been wonderful? Not to have been forced to spend so many wasted years bound to the dirt, when we could have been flying among the stars?" _

_"Speaking of which, please check the warp field harmonics. I am detecting a variance in the field strength." _

_"Drat. It's that port focus coil again. I'll have to tear it down and re-tune it. Again. Once we get through this." _

_"I have perfect faith in your ability to correct any engineering problem. As the descendant of Anna Hess, your inherited talents are formidable." _

_"Now you're just trying to butter me up again. Why do I always have to be the one to do the mechanic work? Tucker the genius was *your* forefather, not mine." _

_"But, t'hy'la, you are incomparably cute with grease on your nose." _

THE END


End file.
